"  And  I  asked  her  to  let  me  have  you  at  table. 
And  here's  my  chance.  " 


SMOKE    BELLEW 


BY 

JACK  LONDON 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  CALL  OF  THE  WILD," 
"THE  SEA  WOLF, ::  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 

P.  J.  MONAHAN 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO 

1912 


Copyright,  1912,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co, 


Copyright,  1911,  1912,  by 
INTERNATIONAL  MAGAZINE  COMPANY 


Published,  October,  IQI2 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


3365 


PAGE 


I  THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT 3 

II  THE   MEAT 34 

III  THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK 69 

IV  SHORTY    DREAMS 99 

V  THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK 119 

VI  THE  RACE  FOR   NUMBER   THREE 146 

VII  THE    LITTLE    MAN I73 

VIII  THE  HANGING  OF  CULTUS  GEORGE 198 

IX  THE    MISTAKE    OF    CREATION 224 

X  A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS .     .255 

XI  THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE   .     .     .    ^    ^  .288 

XII  WONDER  OF  WOMAN  .    .    .    .    ^    .    ,    A    %    .     .324 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"  And  I  asked  her  to  let  me  have  you  at  table.    And  here  's 

my    chance." Frontispiece 

"  I  can  throw  you  right  now,  or  thrash  you  with  my  fists,"      9 

"  If  you  don't  turn  the  boat  around  I'll  shoot  you,"  Sprague 

threatened •     •     •     •     59 

It  was  as  if  her  feet  and  calves  were  encased  in  corrugated 
iron *     *     .     91 

The  man  on  the  river  had  been  struck  by  the  first  shot  129 

It  was  the  utter  weakness  of  the  Indians  that  saved  Smoke 

and  Shorty  from  being  overborne 207 

They  hit  him  right,  and  left  at  the  same  instant  .     .     .  251 

"And  there   is  no   one  else?    No  other   Iseult  out  there 

beyond    the    mountains?" 353 


SMOKE  BELLEW 


SMOKE  BELLEW 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE   MEAT 

TN  the  beginning  he  was  Christopher  Bellew.  By 
-*•  the  time  he  was  at  college  he  had  become  Chris 
Bellew.  Later,  in  the  Bohemian  crowd  of  San  Fran 
cisco,  he  was  called  Kit  Bellew.  And  in  the  end  he 
was  known  by  no  other  name  than  Smoke  Bellew. 
And  this  history  of  the  evolution  of  his  name  is  the 
history  of  his  evolution.  Nor  would  it  have  hap 
pened  had  he  not  had  a  fond  mother  and  an  iron 
uncle,  and  had  he  not  received  a  letter  from  Gillet 
Bellamy. 

"  I  have  just  seen  a  copy  of  The  Billow,"  Gillet 
wrote  from  Paris.  "  Of  course  O'Hara  will  succeed 
with  it.  But  he  's  missing  some  tricks."  Here  fol 
lowed  details  in  the  improvement  of  the  budding  so 
ciety  weekly.  "  Go  down  and  see  him.  Let  him 
think  they  're  your  own  suggestions.  Don't  let  him 
know  they  're  from  me.  If  you  do,  he  '11  make  me 
Paris  correspondent,  which  I  can't  afford,  because 
I  'm  getting  real  money  for  my  stuff  from  the  big 
magazines.  Above  all,  don't  forget  to  make  him  fire 
that  dub  who  's  doing  the  musical  and  art  criticism. 
Another  thing.  San  Francisco  has  always  had  a  lit- 


4  SMOKE  BELLEW 

erature  of  her  own.  But  she  has  n't  any  now.  Tell 
him  to  kick  around  and  get  some  gink  to  turn  out  a 
live  serial,  and  to  put  into  it  the  real  romance  and 
glamour  and  color  of  San  Francisco." 

And  down  to  the  office  of  The  Billow  went  Kit 
Bellew  faithfully  to  instruct.  O'Hara  listened. 
O'Hara  debated.  O'Hara  agreed.  O'Hara  fired  the 
dub  who  wrote  criticisms.  Further,  O'Hara  had  a 
way  with  him,  the  very  way  that  was  feared  by  Gillet 
in  distant  Paris.  When  O'Hara  wanted  anything, 
no  friend  could  deny  him.  He  was  sweetly  and  com- 
pellingly  irresistible.  Before  Kit  Bellew  could  es 
cape  from  the  office,  he  had  become  an  associate  edi 
tor,  had  agreed  to  write  weekly  columns  of  criticism 
till  some  decent  pen  was  found,  and  had  pledged  him 
self  to  write  a  weekly  instalment  of  ten  thousand 
words  on  the  San  Francisco  serial  —  and  all  this  with 
out  pay.  The  Billow  was  n't  paying  yet,  O'Hara  ex 
plained;  and  just  as  convincingly  had  he  exposited 
that  there  was  only  one  man  in  San  Francisco  capable 
of  writing  the  serial  and  that  man  Kit  Bellew. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  I  'm  the  gink !  "  Kit  had  groaned  to 
himself  afterward  on  the  narrow  stairway. 

And  thereat  had  begun  his  servitude  to  O'Hara  and 
the  insatiable  columns  of  The  Billow.  Week  after 
week  he  held  down  an  office  chair,  stood  off  creditors, 
wrangled  with  printers,  and  turned  out  twenty-five 
thousand  words  of  all  sorts.  Nor  did  his  labors 
lighten.  The  Billow  was  ambitious.  It  went  in  for 
illustration.  The  processes  were  expensive.  It 
never  had  any  money  to  pay  Kit  Bellew,  and  by  the 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  5 

same  token  it  was  unable  to  pay  for  any  additions  to 
the  office  staff.  Luckily  for  Kit,  he  had  his  own  in- 
come.  Small  it  was,  compared  with  some,  yet  it  was 
large  enough  to  enable  him  to  belong  to  several  clubs 
and  maintain  a  studio  in  the  Latin  quarter.  In  point 
of  fact,  since  his  associate-editorship,  his  expenses 
ha H  decreased  prodigiously.  He  had  no  time  to 
spend  money.  He  never  saw  the  studio  any  more, 
nor  entertained  the  local  Bohemians  with  his  famous 
chafing-dish  suppers.  Yet  he  was  always  broker  for 
The  Billow,  in  perennial  distress,  absorbed  his  cash 
as  well  as  his  brains.  There  were  the  illustrators, 
wrho  periodically  refused  to  illustrate;  the  printers, 
\vho  periodically  refused  to  print;  and  the  office-boy, 
who  frequently  refused  to  officiate.  At  such  times 
O'Hara  looked  at  Kit,  and  Kit  did  the  rest. 

When  the  steamship  Excelsior  arrived  from 
Alaska,  bringing  the  news  of  the  Klondike  strike  that 
set  the  country  mad,  Kit  made  a  purely  frivolous 
proposition. 

"  Look  here,  O'Hara,"  he  said.  "  This  gold  rush 
is  going  to  be  big  —  the  days  of  '49  over  again. 
Suppose  I  cover  it  for  The  Billow?  I  '11  pay  my  own 
expenses." 

O'Hara  shook  his  head.  "  Can't  spare  you  from 
the  office,  Kit.  Then  there  's  that  serial.  Besides, 
I  saw  Jackson  not  an  hour  ago.  He  's  starting  for 
the  Klondike  to-morrow,  and  he  's  agreed  to  send  a 
weekly  letter  and  photos.  I  would  n't  let  him  get 
away  till  he  promised.  And  the  beauty  of  it  is  that  it 
doesn't  cost  us  anything." 


6  SMOKE  BELLEW 

The  next  Kit  heard  of  the  Klondike  was  when  he 
dropped  into  the  club  that  afternoon  and  in  an  alcove 
off  the  library  encountered  his  uncle. 

"  Hello,  avuncular  relative,"  Kit  greeted,  sliding 
into  a  leather  chair  and  spreading  out  his  legs. 
"  Won't  you  join  me?  " 

He  ordered  a  cocktail,  but  the  uncle  contented  him 
self  with  the  thin  native  claret  he  invariably  drank. 
He  glanced  with  irritated  disapproval  at  the  cocktail 
and  on  to  his  nephew's  face.  Kit  saw  a  lecture  gath 
ering. 

"  I  've  only  a  minute,"  he  announced  hastily. 
"  I  've  got  to  run  and  take  in  that  Keith  exhibition 
at  Ellery's  and  do  half  a  column  on  it." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  the  other  de 
manded.  "  You  're  pale.  You  're  a  wreck." 

Kit's  only  answer  was  a  groan. 

"  I  '11  have  the  pleasure  of  burying  you.  I  can  see 
that." 

Kit  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  No  destroying  worm, 
thank  you.  Cremation  for  mine."  * 

John  Bellew  came  of  the  old  hard  and  hardy  stock 
that  had  crossed  the  plains  by  ox-team  in  the  fifties, 
and  in  him  was  this  same  hardness  and  the  hardness 
of  a  childhood  spent  in  the  conquering  of  a  new  land. 
"  You  're  not  living  right,  Christopher.  I  'm 
ashamed  of  you." 

"Primrose  path,  eh?"  Kit  chuckled. 

The  older  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Shake  not  your  gory  locks  at  me,  avuncular.     I 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  7 

wish  it  were  the  primrose  path.     But  that 's  all  cut 
out.     I  have  no  time." 

"  Then  what  in  —  ?  " 

"  Overwork." 

John  Bellew  laughed  harshly  and  incredulously. 

"  Honest." 

Again  came  the  laughter. 

"  Men  are  the  products  of  their  environment,"  Kit 
proclaimed,  pointing  at  the  other's  glass.  ''  Your 
mirth  is  thin  and  bitter  as  your  drink." 

"  Overwork !  "  was  the  sneer.  "  You  never  earned 
a  cent  in  your  life." 

"  You  bet  I  have,  only  I  never  got  it.  I  'm  earning 
five  hundred  a  week  right  now,  and  doing  four  men's 
work." 

"  Pictures  that  won't  sell  ?  Or  —  er  —  fancy  work 
of  some  sort?  Can  you  swim?" 

"  I  used  to." 

"Sit  a  horse?" 

"  I  have  essayed  that  adventure." 

John  Bellew  snorted  his  disgust.  "  I  'm  glad  your 
father  did  n't  live  to  see  you  in  all  the  glory  of  your 
gracelessness,"  he  said.  "  Your  father  was  a  man, 
every  inch  of  him.  Do  you  get  it  ?  A  man.  I  think 
he  'd  have  whaled  all  this  musical  and  artistic  torn 
foolery  out  of  you." 

"  Alas !  these  degenerate  days,"  Kit  sighed. 

"  I  could  understand  it,  and  tolerate  it,"  the  other 
wTent  on  savagely,  "if  you  succeeded  at  it.  You  Ve 
never  earned  a  cent  in  your  life,  nor  done  a  tap  of 


8  SMOKE  BELLEW 

man's  work.  What,  earthly  good  are  you,  anyway? 
You  were  well  put  up,  )iet  even  at  university  you 
di'dn't  play  football.  You  didn't  row.  You 
didn't—" 

"  I  boxed  and  fenced  —  some." 

"When  did  you  box  last?" 

"  Not  since,  but  I  was  considered  an  excellent  judge 
of  time  and  distance,  only  I  was  —  er — " 

"  Go  on." 

"  Considered  desultory." 

"  Lazy,  you  mean." 

"  I  always  imagined  it  was  an  euphemism." 

"  My  father,  sir,  your  grandfather,  old  Isaac  Bel- 
lew,  killed  a  man  with  a  blow  of  his  fist  when  he  was 
sixty-nine  years  old." 

"The  man?" 

"  No,  you  graceless  scamp !  But  you  '11  never  kill 
a  mosquito  at  sixty-nine." 

"  The  times  have  changed,  O  my  avuncular ! 
They  send  men  to  prison  for  homicide  now." 

"  Your  father  rode  one  hundred  and  eighty-five 
miles,  without  sleeping,  and  killed  three  horses." 

"  Had  he  lived  to-day  he  'd  have  snored  over  the 
same  course  in  a  Pullman." 

The  older  man  was  on  the  verge  of  choking  with 
wrath,  but  swallowed  it  down  and  managed  to  articu 
late,  "  How  old  are  you?  " 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe  — " 

"  I  know.  Twenty-seven.  You  finished  college 
at  twenty-two.  You  've  dabbled  and  played  and 
frilled  for  five  years.  Before  God  and  man,  of  what 


I  can  throw  you  right  now,  or  thrash  you  with  my  fists 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  11 

use  are  you?  When  I  was  your  age  I  had  one  suit 
of  underclothes.  I  was  riding  with  the  cattle  in 
Coluso.  I  was  hard  as  rocks,  and  I  could  sleep  on 
a  rock.  I  lived  on  jerked  beef  and  bear-meat.  I  am 
a  better  man  physically  right  now  than  you  are.  You 
weigh  about  one  hundred  and  sixty-five.  I  can  throw 
you  right  now,  or  thrash  you  with  my  fists." 

"  It  does  n't  take  a  physical  prodigy  to  mop  up 
cocktails  or  pink  tea,"  Kit  murmured  deprecatingly. 
"  Don't  you  see,  my  avuncular,  the  times  have 
changed.  Besides,  I  was  n't  brought  up  right.  My 
dear  fool  of  a  mother  — " 

John  Bellew  started  angrily. 

" —  as  you  once  described  her,  was  too  good  to  me, 
kept  me  in  cotton  wool  and  all  the  rest.  Now,  if 
when  I  was  a  youngster  I  had  taken  some  of  those 
intensely  masculine  vacations  you  go  in  for —  I 
\vonder  why  you  did  n't  invite  me  sometimes  ?  You 
took  Hal  and  Robbie  all  over  the  Sierras  and  on  that 
Mexico  trip." 

"  I  guess  you  were  too  Lord-Fauntleroyish." 

"  Your  fault,  avuncular,  and  my  dear  —  er  — 
mother's.  How  was  I  to  know  the  hard?  I  was 
only  a  chee-ild.  What  was  there  left  but  etchings 
and  pictures  and  fans  ?  Was  it  my  fault  that  I  never 
had  to  sweat?" 

The  older  man  looked  at  his  nephew  with  uncon 
cealed  disgust.  He  had  no  patience  with  levity  from 
the  lips  of  softness.  "  Well,  I  'm  going  to  take  an 
other  one  of  those  what  you  call  masculine  vacations. 
Suppose  I  asked  you  to  come  along?" 


12  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"Rather  belated,  I  must  say.     Where  is  it?" 

"  Hal  and  Robert  are  going  in  to  Klondike,  and 
I  'm  going  to  see  them  across  the  pass  and  down  to 
the  lakes,  then  return — " 

He  got  no  further,  for  the  young  man  had  sprung 
forward  and  gripped  his  hand.  "  My  preserver !  " 

John  Bellew  was  immediately  suspicious.  He 
had  not  dreamed  the  invitation  would  be  accepted. 
"  You  don't  mean  it?  "  he  said. 

"When  do  we  start?" 

"  It  will  be  a  hard  trip.     You  '11  be  in  the  way." 

"  No,  I  won't.  I  '11  work.  I  've  learned  to  work 
since  I  went  on  The  Billow" 

"  Each  man  has  to  take  a  year's  supplies  in  with 
him.  There  '11  be  such  a  jam  the  Indian  packers 
won't  be  able  to  handle  it.  Hal  and  Robert  will  have 
to  pack  their  outfits  across  themselves.  That 's  what 
I  'm  going  along  for  —  to  help  them  pack.  If  you 
come  you  '11  have  to  do  the  same." 

"  Watch  me." 

"  You  can't  pack,"  was  the  objection. 

"When  do  we  start?" 

"  To-morrow." 

"  You  need  n't  take  it  to  yourself  that  your  lecture 
on  the  hard  has  done  it,"  Kit  said,  at  parting.  "  I 
just  had  to  get  away,  somewhere,  anywhere,  from 
O'Hara." 

"Who  is  O'Hara?    A  Jap?" 

"  No ;  he  's  an  Irishman,  and  a  slave-driver,  and 
my  best  friend.  He  's  the  editor  and  proprietor  and 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  13 

all-round  big  squeeze  of  The  Billow.  What  he  says 
goes.  He  can  make  ghosts  walk." 

That  night  Kit  Bellew  wrote  a  note  to  O'Hara. 
"  It 's  only  a  several  weeks'  vacation,"  he  explained. 
"  You  '11  have  to  get  some  gink  to  dope  out  instal 
ments  for  that  serial.  Sorry,  old  man,  but  my  health 
demands  it.  I  '11  kick  in  twice  as  hard  when  I  get 
back." 

Kit  Bellew  landed  through  the  madness  of  the 
Dyea  beach  congested  with  the  thousand-pound 
outfits  of  thousands  of  men.  This  immense 
mass  of  luggage  and  food,  flung  ashore  in  mountains 
by  the  steamers,  was  beginning  slowly  to  dribble  up 
the  Dyea  Valley  and  across  Chilkoot.  It  was  a 
portage  of  twenty-eight  miles,  and  could  be  accom 
plished  only  on  the  backs  of  men.  Despite  the  fact 
that  the  Indian  packers  had  jumped  the  freight  from 
eight  cents  a  pound  to  forty,  they  were  swamped  with 
the  work,  and  it  was  plain  that  winter  would  catch 
the  major  portion  of  the  outfits  on  the  wrong  side  of 
the  divide. 

Tenderest  of  the  tenderfeet  was  Kit.  Like  many 
hundreds  of  others,  he  carried  a  big  revolver  swung 
on  a  cartridge-belt.  Of  this  his  uncle,  filled  with 
memories  of  old  lawless  days,  was  likewise  guilty. 
But  Kit  Bellew  was  romantic.  He  was  fascinated 
by  the  froth  and  sparkle  of  the  gold  rush,  and  viewed 
its  life  and  movement  with  an  artist's  eye.  He  did 
not  take  it  seriously.  As  he  said  on  the  steamer,  it 
was  not  his  funeral.  He  was  merely  on  a  vacation, 


I4  SMOKE  BELLEW 

and  intended  to  peep  over  the  top  of  the  pass  for  a 
"  look  see  "  and  then  return. 

Leaving  his  party  on  the  sand  to  wait  for  the  put 
ting  ashore  of  the  freight,  he  strolled  up  the  beach 
toward  the  old  trading-post.  He  did  not  swagger, 
though  he  noticed  that  many  of  the  be-revolvered  in 
dividuals  did.  A  strapping,  six-foot  Indian  passed 
him,  carrying  an  unusually  large  pack.  Kit  swung  in 
behind,  admiring  the  splendid  calves  of  the  man,  and 
the  grace  and  ease  with  which  he  moved  along  under 
his  burden.  The  Indian  dropped  his  pack  on  the 
scales  in  front  of  the  post,  and  Kit  joined  the  group 
of  admiring  gold-rushers  who  surrounded  him.  The 
pack  weighed  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds, 
which  fact  was  uttered  back  and  forth  in  tones  of 
awe.  It  was  going  some,  Kit  decided,  and  he  won 
dered  if  he  could  lift  such  a  weight,  much  less  walk 
off  with  it. 

"  Going  to  Lake  Linderman  with  it,  old  man?  "  he 
asked. 

The  Indian,  swelling  with  pride,  grunted  an  affirm 
ative. 

"  How  much  you  make  that  one  pack?  " 

"  Fifty  dollars." 

Here  Kit  slid  out  of  the  conversation.  A  young 
woman,  standing  in  the  doorway,  had  caught  his  eye. 
Unlike  other  women  landing  from  the  steamers,  she 
was  neither  short-skirted  not  bloomer-clad.  She  was 
dressed  as  any  woman  traveling  anywhere  would  be 
dressed.  What  struck  him  was  the  justness  of  her 
being  there,  a  feeling  that  somehow  she  belonged. 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  15 

Moreover,  she  was  young  and  pretty.  The  bright 
beauty  and  color  of  her  oval  face  held  him,  and  he 
looked  overlong — -looked  till  she  resented,  and  her 
own  eyes,  long  lashed  and  dark,  met  his  in  cool  sur 
vey.  From  his  face,  they  traveled  in  evident  amuse 
ment  down  to  the  big  revolver  at  his  thigh.  Then 
her  eyes  came  back  to  his,  and  in  them  was  amused 
contempt.  It  struck  him  like  a  blow.  She  turned 
to  the  man  beside  her  and  indicated  Kit.  The  man 
glanced  him  over  with  the  same  amused  contempt. 

"  Chekako,"  the  girl  said. 

The  man,  who  looked  like  a  tramp  in  his  cheap 
overalls  and  dilapidated  woolen  jacket,  grinned  dryly, 
and  Kit  felt  withered,  though  he  knew  not  why.  But 
anyway  she  was  an  unusually  pretty  girl,  he  decided, 
as  the  two  moved  off.  He  noted  the  way  of  her  walk, 
and  recorded  the  judgment  that  he  would  recognize 
it  after  the  lapse  of  a  thousand  years. 

"  Did  you  see  that  man  with  the  girl?  "  Kit's  neigh 
bor  asked  him  excitedly.  "  Know  who  he  is  ?  " 

Kit  shook  his  head. 

"  Cariboo  Charley.  He  was  just  pointed  out  to 
me.  He  struck  it  big  on  Klondike.  Old-timer. 
Been  on  the  Yukon  a  dozen  years.  He  's  just  come 
out." 

"  What  does  '  chekako  '  mean?  "  Kit  asked. 

"  You  're  one;  I  'm  one,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Maybe  I  am,  but  you  Ve  got  to  search  me. 
What  does  it  mean?" 

"  Tenderfoot." 

On  his   way  back  to  the  beach,   Kit  turned  the. 


16  SMOKE  BELLEW 

phrase  over  and  over.  It  rankled  to  be  called  tender 
foot  by  a  slender  chit  of  a  woman.  Going  into  a 
corner  among  the  heaps  of  freight,  his  mind  still  filled 
with  the  vision  of  the  Indian  with  the  redoubtable 
pack,  Kit  essayed  to  learn  his  own  strength.  He 
picked  out  a  sack  of  flour  which  he  knew  weighed  an 
even  hundred  pounds.  He  stepped  astride  it,  reached 
down,  and  strove  to  get  it  on  his  shoulder.  His  first 
conclusion  was  that  one  hundred  pounds  were  real 
heavy.  His  next  was  that  his  back  was  weak.  His 
third  was  an  oath,  and  it  occurred  at  the  end  of  five 
futile  minutes,  when  he  collapsed  on  top  of  the  bur 
den  with  which  he  was  wrestling.  He  mopped  his 
forehead,  and  across  a  heap  of  grub-sacks  saw  John 
Bellew  gazing  at  him,  wintry  amusement  in  his  eyes. 

"God!"  proclaimed  that  apostle  of  the  hard. 
"  Out  of  our  loins  has  come  a  race  of  weak 
lings.  When  I  was  sixteen  I  toyed  with  things  like 
that." 

"You   forget,   avuncular,"   Kit  retorted,   "that  I 
wasn't  raised  on  bear-meat." 
'  "  And  I  '11  toy  with  it  when  I  'm  sixty." 

"  You  've  got  to  show  me." 

John  Bellew  did.  He  was  forty-eight,  but  he  bent 
over  the  sack,  applied  a  tentative,  shifting  grip  that 
balanced  it,  and  with  a  quick  heave  stood  erect,  the 
sack  of  flour  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Knack,  my  boy,  knack  —  and  a  spine." 

Kit  took  off  his  hat  reverently.  "  You  're  a  won 
der,  avuncular,  a  shining  wonder.  D'  ye  think  I  can 
learn  the  knack  ?  " 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  17 

John  Bellew  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You  '11  be 
hitting  the  back  trail  before  we  get  started/' 

"  Never  you  fear,"  Kit  groaned.  "  There 's 
O'Hara,  the  roaring  lion,  down  there.  I  'm  not  go 
ing  back  till  I  have  to." 

Kit's  first  pack  was  a  success.  Up  to  Finnegan's 
Crossing  they  had  managed  to  get  Indians  to  carry 
the  twenty-five-hundred-pound  outfit.  From  that 
point  their  own  backs  must  do  the  work.  They 
planned  to  move  forward  at  the  rate  of  a  mile  a  day. 
It  looked  easy  —  on  paper.  Since  John  Bellew  was 
to  stay  in  camp  and  do  the  cooking,  he  would  be  un 
able  to  make  more  than  an  occasional  pack;  so  to 
each  of  the  three  young  men  fell  the  ta?k  of  carrying 
eight  hundred  pounds  one  mile  each  day.  If  they 
made  fifty-pound  packs,  it  meant  a  daily  walk  of  six 
teen  miles  loaded  and  of  fifteen  miles  light  — "  Be 
cause  we  don't  back-trip  the  last  time,"  Kit  explained 
the  pleasant  discovery.  Eighty-pound  packs  meant 
nineteen  miles  travel  each  day;  and  hundred-pound 
packs  meant  only  fifteen  miles. 

"  I  don't  like  walking,"  said  Kit.  "  Therefore  I 
shall  carry  one  hundred  pounds."  He  caught  the 
grin  of  incredulity  on  his  uncle's  face,  and  added 
hastily:  "  Of  course  I  shall  work  up  to  it.  A  fellow's 
got  to  learn  the  ropes  and  tricks.  I  '11  start  with 
fifty." 

He  did,  and  ambled  gaily  along  the  trail.  He 
dropped  the  sack  at  the  next  camp-site  and  ambled 
back.  It  was  easier  than  he  had  thought.  But  two 
miles  had  rubbed  off  the  velvet  of  his  strength  and 


18  SMOKE  BELLEW 

exposed  the  underlying  softness.  'His  second  pack 
was  sixty-five  pounds.  It  was  more  difficult,  and  he 
no  longer  ambled.  Several  times,  following  the  cus 
tom  of  all  packers,  he  sat  down  on  the  ground,  resting 
the  pack  behind  him  on  a  rock  or  stump.  With  the 
third  pack  he  became  bold.  He  fastened  the  straps  to 
a  ninety-five-pound  sack  of  beans  and  started.  At  the 
end  of  a  hundred  yards  he  felt  that  he  must  collapse. 
He  sat  down  and  mopped  his  face. 

"  Short  hauls  and  short  rests,"  he  muttered. 
"  That 's  the  trick." 

Sometimes  he  did  not  make  a  hundred  yards,  and 
each  time  he  struggled  to  his  feet  for  another  short 
haul  the  pack  became  undeniably  heavier.  He  panted 
for  breath,  and  the  sweat  streamed  from  him.  Be 
fore  he  had  covered  a  quarter  of  a  mile  he  stripped  off 
his  woolen  shirt  and  hung  it  on  a  tree.  A  little  later 
he  discarded  his  hat.  At  the  end  of  half  a  mile  he 
decided  he  was  finished.  He  had  never  exerted  him 
self  so  in  his  life,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  finished. 
As  he  sat  and  panted,  his  gaze  fell  upon  the  big  re 
volver  and  the  heavy  cartridge-belt. 

"Ten  pounds  of  junk!"  he  sneered,  as  he  un 
buckled  it. 

He  did  not  bother  to  hang  it  on  a  tree,  but  flung 
it  into  the  underbrush.  And  as  the  steady  tide  of 
packers  flowed  by  him,  up  trail  and  down,  he  noted 
that  the  other  tenderfeet  were  beginning  to  shed  their 
shooting-irons. 

His  short  hauls  decreased.  At  times  a  hundred 
feet  was  all  he  could  stagger,  and  then  the  ominous 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  19 

pounding  of  his  heart  against  his  eardrums  and  the 
sickening  totteriness  of  his  knees  compelled  him  to 
rest.  And  his  rests  grew  longer.  But  his  mind  was 
busy.  It  was  a  twenty-eight-mile  portage,  which  rep 
resented  as  many  days,  and  this  by  all  accounts  was 
the  easiest  part  of  it.  "  Wait  till  you  get  to  Chil- 
koot,"  others  told  him  as  they  rested  and  talked, 
"  where  you  climb  with  hands  and  feet." 

"  They  ain't  going  to  be  no  Chilkoot,"  was  his  an 
swer.  "  Not  for  me.  Long  before  that  I  '11  be  at 
peace  in  my  little  couch  beneath  the  moss." 

A  slip  and  a  violent,  wrenching  effort  at  recovery 
frightened  him.  He  felt  that  everything  inside  him 
had  been  torn  asunder. 

"  If  ever  I  fall  down  with  this  on  my  back,  I  'm  a 
goner/'  he  told  another  packer. 

"  That 's  nothing,"  came  the  answer.  "  Wait  till 
you  hit  the  Canyon.  You  '11  have  to  cross  a  raging 
torrent  on  a  sixty-foot  pine-tree.  No  guide-ropes, 
nothing,  and  the  water  boiling  at  the  sag  of  the  log 
to  your  knees.  If  you  fall  with  a  pack  on  your  back, 
there  's  no  getting  out  of  the  straps.  You  just  stay 
there  and  drown." 

"  Sounds  good  to  me,"  he  retorted ;  and  out  of  the 
depths  of  his  exhaustion  he  almost  meant  it. 

"  They  drown  three  or  four  a  day  there,"  the 
man  assured  him.  "  I  helped  fish  a  German  out 
of  there.  He  had  four  thousand  in  greenbacks  on 
him." 

"  Cheerful,  I  must  say,"  said  Kit,  battling  his.  way 
to  his  feet  and  tottering  on. 


20  SMOKE  BELLEW 

He  and  the  sack  of  beans  became  a  perambulating 
tragedy.  It  reminded  him  of  the  old  man  of  the  sea 
who  sat  on  Sindbad's  neck.  And  this  was  one  of 
those  intensely  masculine  vacations,  he  meditated. 
Compared  with  it,  the  servitude  to  O'Hara  was  sweet. 
Again  and  again  he  was  nearly  seduced  by  the  thought 
of  abandoning  the  sack  of  beans  in  the  brush  and  of 
sneaking  around  the  camp  to  the  beach  and  catching 
a  steamer  for  civilization. 

But  he  did  n't.  Somewhere  in  him  was  the  strain 
of  the  hard,  and  he  repeated  over  and  over  to  himself 
that  what  other  men  could  do  he  could.  It  became  a 
nightmare  chant,  and  he  gibbered  it  to  those  that 
passed  him  on  the  trail.  At  other  times,  resting,  he 
watched  and  envied  the  stolid,  mule-footed  Indians 
that  plodded  by  under  heavier  packs.  They  never 
seemed  to  rest,  but  went  on  and  on  with  a  steadiness 
and  certitude  that  wrere  to  him  appalling. 

He  sat  and  cursed  —  he  had  no  breath  for  it  when 
under  way  —  and  fought  the  temptation  to  sneak 
back  to  San  Francisco.  Before  the  mile  pack  was 
ended  he  ceased  cursing  and  took  to  crying.  The 
tears  were  tears  of  exhaustion  and  of  disgust  with 
self.  If  ever  a  man  was  a  wreck,  he  was.  As  the 
end  of  the  pack  came  in  sight,  he  strained  himself  in 
desperation,  gained  the  camp-site,  and  pitched  for 
ward  on  his  face,  the  beans  on  his  back.  It  did  not 
kill  him,  but  he  lay  for  fifteen  minutes  before  he  could 
summon  sufficient  shreds  of  strength  to  release  him 
self  from  the  straps.  Then  he  became  deathly  sick, 
and  was  so  found  by  Robbie,  who  had  similar 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  21 

troubles  of  his  own.  It  was  this  sickness  of  Robbie 
that  braced  Kit  up. 

"  What  other  men  can  do  we  can  do,"  he  told  Rob 
bie,  though  down  in  his  heart  he  wondered  whether 
or  not  he  was  bluffing. 

"  And  I  am  twenty-seven  years  old  and  a  man," 
he  privately  assured  himself  many  times  in  the  days 
that  followed.  There  was  need  for  it.  At  the  end 
of  a  week,  though  he  had  succeeded  in  moving  his 
eight  hundred  pounds  forward  a  mile  a  day,  he  had 
lost  fifteen  pounds  of  his  own  weight.  His  face  was 
lean  and  haggard.  All  resilience  had  gone  out  of 
his  body  and  mind.  He  no  longer  walked,  but 
plodded.  And  on  the  back-trips,  traveling  light,  his 
feet  dragged  almost  as  much  as  when  he  was  loaded. 

He  had  become  a  work  animal.  He  fell  asleep 
over  his  food,  and  his  sleep  was  heavy  and  beastly, 
save  when  he  was  aroused,  screaming  with  agony,  by 
the  cramps  in  his  legs.  Every  part  of  him  ached. 
He  tramped  on  raw  blisters;  yet  even  this  was  easier 
than  the  fearful  bruising  his  feet  received  on  the 
water-rounded  rocks  of  the  Dyea  Flats,  across  which 
the  trail  led  for  two  miles.  These  two  miles  repre 
sented  thirty-eight  miles  of  traveling.  His  shoulders 
and  chest,  galled  by  the  pack-straps,  made  him  think, 
and  for  the  first  time  with  understanding,  of  the 
horses  he  had  seen  on  city  streets. 

When  they  had  moved  the  outfit  across  the  foot- 
logs  at  the  mouth  of  the  Canyon,  they  made  a  change 
in  their  plans.  Word  had  come  across  the  pass  that 
at  Lake  Linderman  the  last  available  trees  for  build- 


22  SMOKE  BELLEW 

ing  boats  were  being  cut.  The  two  cousins,  with 
tools,  whipsaw,  blankets,  and  grub  on  their  backs, 
went  on,  leaving  Kit  and  his  uncle  to  hustle  along  the 
outfit.  John  Bellew  now  shared  the  cooking  with 
Kit,  and  both  packed  sfroulder  to  shoulder.  Time 
was  flying,  and  on  the  peaks  the  first  snow  was  fall 
ing.  To  be  caught  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  pass 
meant  a  delay  of  nearly  a  year.  The  older  man  put 
his  iron  back  under  a  hundred  pounds.  Kit  was 
shocked,  but  he  gritted  his  teeth  and  fastened  his  own 
straps  to  a  hundred  pounds.  It  hurt,  but  he  had 
learned  the  knack,  and  his  body,  purged  of  all  soft 
ness  and  fat,  was  beginning  to  harden  up  with  lean 
and  bitter  muscle.  Also,  he  observed  and  devised. 
He  took  note  of  the  head-straps  worn  by  the  Indians 
and  manufactured  one  for  himself  which  he  used  in 
addition  to  the  shoulder-straps.  It  made  things  eas 
ier,  so  that  he  began  the  practise  of  piling  any  light, 
cumbersome  piece  of  luggage  on  top.  Thus  he  was 
soon  able  to  bend  along  with  a  hundred  pounds  in 
the  straps,  fifteen  or  twenty  more  lying  loosely  on 
top  the  pack  and  against  his  neck,  an  ax  or  a  pair  of 
oars  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  the  nested  cook 
ing-pails  of  the  camp. 

But  work  as  they  would,  the  toil  increased.  The 
trail  grew  more  rugged;  their  packs  grew  heavier; 
and  each  day  saw  the  snow-line  dropping  down  the 
mountains,  while  freight  jumped  to  sixty  cents.  No 
word  came  from  the  cousins  beyond,  so  they  knew 
they  must  be  at  work  chopping  down  the  standing 
trees  and  whipsawing  them  into  boat-planks.  John 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  23 

Bellew  grew  anxious.  Capturing  a  bunch  of  Indians 
back-tripping  from  Lake  Linderman,  he  persuaded 
them  to  put  their  straps  on  the  outfit.  They  charged 
thirty  cents  a  pound  to  carry  it  to  the  summit  of  Chil- 
koot,  and  it  nearly  broke  him.  As  it  was,  some  four 
hundred  pounds  of  clothes-bags  and  camp  outfit  were 
not  handled.  He  remained  behind  to  move  it  along, 
despatching  Kit  with  the  Indians.  At  the  summit 
Kit  was  to  remain,  slowly  moving  his  ton  until  over 
taken  by  the  four  hundred  pounds  with  which  his 
uncle  guaranteed  to  catch  him. 

Kit  plodded  along  the  trail  with  his  Indian  packers. 
In  recognition  of  the  fact  that  it  was  to  be  a  long 
pack,  straight  to  the  top  of  Chilkoot,  his  own  load 
was  only  eighty  pounds.  The  Indians  plodded  under 
their  loads,  but  it  was  a  quicker  gait  than  he  had 
practised.  Yet  he  felt  no  apprehension,  and  by 
now  had  come  to  deem  himself  almost  the  equal  of 
an  Indian. 

At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  he  desired  to 
rest.  But  the  Indians  kept  on.  He  stayed  with 
them,  and  kept  his  place  in  the  line.  At  the  half- 
mile  he  was  convinced  that  he  w^as  incapable  of  an 
other  step,  yet  he  gritted  his  teeth,  kept  his  place,  and 
at  the  end  of  the  mile  was  amazed  that  he  was  still 
alive.  Then,  in  some  strange  way,  came  the  thing 
called  second  wind,  and  the  next  mile  was  almost 
easier  than  the  first.  The  third  mile  nearly  killed 
him,  but,  though  half  delirious  with  pain  and  fatigue, 
he  never  whimpered.  And  then,  when  he  felt  he 
must  surely  faint,  came  the  rest.  Instead  of  sitting 


24  SMOKE  BELLEW 

in  the  straps,  as  was  the  custom  of  the  white  packers, 
the  Indians  slipped  out  of  the  shoulder-  and  head- 
straps  and  lay  at  ease,  talking  and  smoking.  A  full 
half-hour  passed  before  they  made  another  start.  To 
Kit's  surprise,  he  found  himself  a  fresh  man,  and 
"  long  hauls  and  long  rests  "  became  his  newest  motto. 

The  pitch  of  Chilkoot  was  all  he  had  heard  of  it, 
and  many  were  the  occasions  when  he  climbed  with 
hands  as  well  as  feet.  But  when  he  reached  the  crest 
of  the  divide  in  the  thick  of  a  driving  snow-squall,  it 
was  in  the  company  of  his  Indians,  and  his  secret 
pride  was  that  he  had  come  through  with  them  and 
never  squealed  and  never  lagged.  To  be  almost  as 
good  as  an  Indian  was  a  new  ambition  to  cherish. 

When  he  had  paid  off  the  Indians  and  seen  them 
depart,  a  stormy  darkness  was  falling,  and  he  was 
left  alone,  a  thousand  feet  above  timber-line,  on  the 
backbone  of  a  mountain.  Wet  to  the  Waist,  famished 
and  exhausted,  he  would  have  given  a  year's  income 
for  a  fire  and  a  cup  of  coffee.  Instead,  he  ate  half 
a  dozen  cold  flapjacks  and  crawled  into  the  folds  of 
the  partly  unrolled  tent.  As  he  dozed  off  he  had  time 
for  only  one  fleeting  thought,  and  he  grinned  with 
vicious  pleasure  at  the  picture  of  John  Bellew  in  the 
days  to  follow,  masculinely  back-tripping  his  four 
hundred  pounds  up  Chilkoot.  As  for  himself,  even 
though  burdened  with  two  thousand  pounds,  he  was 
bound  down  the  hill. 

In  the  morning,  stiff  from  his  labors  and  numb 
with  the  frost,  he  rolled  out  of  the  canvas,  ate  a 
couple  of  pounds  of  uncooked  bacon,  buckled  the 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  25 

straps  on  a  hundred  pounds,  and  went  down  the 
rocky  way.  Several  hundred  yards  beneath,  the  trail 
led  across  a  small  glacier  and  down  to  Crater  Lake. 
Other  men  packed  across  the  glacier.  All  that  day 
he  dropped  his  packs  at  the  glacier's  upper  edge,  and 
by  virtue  of  the  shortness  of  the  pack,  he  put  his 
straps  on  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  each  load. 
His  astonishment  at  being  able  to  do  it  never  abated. 
For  two  dollars  he  bought  from  an  Indian  three 
leathery  sea-biscuits,  and  out  of  these,  and  a  huge 
quantity  of  raw  bacon,  made  several  meals.  Un 
washed,  unwarmed,  his  clothing  wet  with  sweat,  he 
slept  another  night  in  the  canvas. 

In  the  early  morning  he  spread  a  tarpaulin  on  the 
ice,  loaded  it  with  three-quarters  of  a  ton,  and  started 
to  pull.  Where  the  pitch  of  the  glacier  accelerated, 
his  load  likewise  accelerated,  overran  him,  scooped 
him  in  on  top,  and  ran  away  with  him. 

A  hundred  packers,  bending  under  their  loads, 
stopped  to  watch  him.  He  yelled  frantic  warnings, 
and  those  in  his  path  stumbled  and  staggered  clear. 
Below,  on  the  lower  edge  of  the  glacier,  was  pitched 
a  small  tent,  which  seemed  leaping  toward  him,  so 
rapidly  did  it  grow  larger.  He  left  the  beaten  track 
where  the  packers'  trail  swerved  to  the  left,  and  struck 
a  patch  of  fresh  snow.  This  arose  about  him  in 
frosty  smoke,  while  it  reduced  his  speed.  He  saw 
the  tent  the  instant  he  struck  it,  carrying  away  the 
corner  guys,  bursting  in  the  front  flaps,  and  fetching 
up  inside,  still  on  top  of  the  tarpaulin  and  in  the 
midst  of  his  grub-sacks.  The  tent  rocked  drunkenly, 


26  SMOKE  BELLEW 

and  in  the  frosty  vapor  he  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  a  startled  young  woman  who  was  sitting  up  in 
her  blankets  —  the  very  one  who  had  called  him  a 
tenderfoot  at  Dyea. 

"  Did  you  see  my  smoke  ?  "  he  queried  cheerfully. 

She  regarded  him  with  disapproval. 

f<  Talk  about  your  magic  carpets !  "  he  went  on. 

Her  coolness  was  a  challenge.  "  It  was  a  mercy 
you  did  not  overturn  the  stove,"  she  said. 

He  followed  her  glance  and  saw  a  sheet-iron  stove 
and  a  coffee-pot,  attended  by  a  young  squaw.  He 
sniffed  the  coffee  and  looked  back  to  the  girl. 

"  I  'm  a  chekako,"  he  said. 

Her  bored  expression  told  him  that  he  was  stating 
the  obvious.  But  he  was  unabashed. 

"  I  Ve  shed  my  shooting-irons,"  he  added. 

Then  she  recognized  him,  and  her  eyes  lighted. 
"  I  never  thought  you  'd  get  this  far,"  she  informed 
him. 

Again,  and  greedily,  he  sniffed  the  air.  "  As  I 
live,  coffee !  "  He  turned  and  directly  addressed  her : 
"  I  '11  give  you  my  little  finger  — i  cut  it  off  right  now ; 
I  '11  do  anything ;  I  '11  be  your  slave  for  a  year  and  a 
day  or  any  other  old  time,  if  you  '11  give  me  a  cup  out 
of  that  pot." 

And  over  the  coffee  he  gave  his  name  and  learned 
hers  —  Joy  Gastell.  Also,  he  learned  that  she  was 
an  old-timer  in  the  country.  She  had  been  born  in  a 
trading-post  on  the  Great  Slave,  and  as  a  child  had 
crossed  the  Rockies  with  her  father  and  come  down 
to  the  Yukon.  She  was  going  in,  she  said,  with  her 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  27 

father,  who  had  been  delayed  by  business  in  Seattle 
and  who  had  then  been  wrecked  on  the  ill-fated 
Chanter  and  carried  back  to  Puget  Sound  by  the  res 
cuing  steamer. 

In  vie\v  of  the  fact  that  she  was  still  in  her  blankets, 
he  did  not  make  it  a  long  conversation,  and,  heroically 
declining  a  second  cup  of  coffee,  he  removed  himself 
and  his  heaped  and  shifted  baggage  from  her  tent. 
Further,  he  took  several  conclusions  away  with  him : 
she  had  a  fetching  name  and  fetching  eyes ;  could 
not  be  more  than  twenty,  or  twenty-one  or  two;  her 
father  must  be  French;  she  had  a  will  of  her  own; 
temperament  to  burn;  and  she  had  been  educated 
elsewhere  than  on  the  frontier. 

Over  the  ice-scoured  rocks  and  above  the  timber- 
line,  the  trail  ran  around  Crater  Lake  and  gained  the 
rocky  defile  that  led  toward  Happy  Camp  and  the 
first  scrub-pines.  To  pack  his  heavy  outfit  around 
would  take  days  of  heart-breaking  toil.  On  the  lake 
was  a  canvas  boat  employed  in  freighting.  Two 
trips  with  it,  in  two  hours,  would  see  him  and  his  ton 
across.  But  he  was  broke,  and  the  ferryman  charged 
forty  dollars  a  ton. 

'  You  've  got  a  gold-mine,  my  friend,  in  that  dinky 
boat,"  Kit  said  to  the  ferryman.  "  Do  you  want  an 
other  gold-mine  ?  " 

"  Show  me,"  was  the  answer. 

"  I  '11  sell  it  to  you  for  the  price  of  ferrying  my 
outfit.  It 's  an  idea,  not  patented,  and  you  can  jump 
the  deal  as  soon  as  I  tell  you  it.  Are  you  game  ?  " 

The  ferryman  said  he  was,  and  Kit  liked  his  looks. 


28  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Very  well.  You  see  that  glacier.  Take  a 
pick-ax  and  wade  into  it.  In  a  day  you  can  have  a 
decent  groove  from  top  to  bottom.  See  the  point? 
The  Chilkoot  and  Crater  Lake  Consolidated  Chute 
Corporation,  Limited.  You  can  charge  fifty  cents 
a  hundred,  get  a  hundred  tons  a  day,  and  have  no 
work  to  do  but  collect  the  coin." 

Two  hours  later,  Kit's  ton  was  across  the  lake, 
and  he  had  gained  three  days  on  himself.  And  when 
John  Bellew  overtook  him,  he  was  well  along  toward 
Deep  Lake,  another  volcanic  pit  filled  with  glacial 
water. 

The  last  pack,  from  Long  Lake  to  Linderman,  was 
three  miles,  and  the  trail,  if  trail  it  could  be  called, 
rose  up  over  a  thousand- foot  hogback,  dropped  down 
a  scramble  of  slippery  rocks,  and  crossed  a  wide 
stretch  of  swamp.  John  Bellew  remonstrated  when 
he  saw"  Kit  rise  with  a  hundred  pounds  in  the  straps 
and  pick  up  a  fifty-pound  sack  of  flour  and  place  it 
on  top  of  the  pack  against  the  back  of  his  neck. 

"  Come  on,  you  chunk  of  the  hard,"  Kit  retorted. 
"  Kick  in  on  your  bear-meat  fodder  and  your  one  suit 
of  underclothes." 

But  John  Bellew  shook  his  head.  "  I  'm  afraid 
I  'm  getting  old,  Christopher." 

"  You  're  only  forty-eight.  Do  you  realize  that 
my  grandfather,  sir,  your  father,  old  Isaac  Bellew, 
killed  a  man  with  his  fist  when  he  was  sixty-nine 
years  old?" 

John  Bellew  grinned  and  swallowed  his  medicine. 

"  Avuncular,  I  want  to  tell  you  something  impor- 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  29 

tant.  I  was  raised  a  Lord  Fauntleroy,  but  I  can  out- 
pack  you,  outwalk  you,  put  you  on  your  back,  or  lick 
you  with  my  fists  right  now." 

John  Bellew  thrust  out  his  hand  and  spoke  sol 
emnly.  "  Christopher,  my  boy,  I  believe  you  can  do 
it.  I  believe  you  can  do  it  with  that  pack  on  your 
back  at  the  same  time.  You  've  made  good,  boy, 
though  it 's  too  unthinkable  to  believe." 

Kit  made  the  round  trip  of  the  last  pack  four  times 
a  day,  which  is  to  say  that  he  daily  covered  twenty- 
four  miles  of  mountain  climbing,  twelve  miles  of  it 
under  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  He  \vas  proud, 
hard,  and  tired,  but  in  splendid  physical  condition. 
He  ate  and  slept  as  he  had  never  eaten  and  slept  in 
his  life,  and  as  the  end  of  the  work  came  in  sight,  he 
was  almost  half  sorry. 

One  problem  bothered  him.  He  had  learned  that 
he  could  fall  with  a  hundred-weight  on  his  back'  and 
survive;  but  he  was  confident  that  if  he  fell  with  that 
additional  fifty  pounds  across  the  back  of  his  neck,  it 
would  break  it  clean.  Each  trail  through  the  swamp 
was  quickly  churned  bottomless  by  the  thousands  of 
packers,  who  were  compelled  continually  to  make  new 
trails.  It  was  while  pioneering  such  a  new  trail  that 
he  solved  the  problem  of  the  extra  fifty. 

The  soft,  lush  surface  gave  way  under  him,  he 
floundered,  and  pitched  forward  on  his  face.  The 
fifty  pounds  crushed  his  face  into  the  mud  and  went 
clear  without  snapping  his  neck.  With  the  remain 
ing  hundred  pounds  on  his  back,  he  arose  on  hands 
and  knees.  But  he  got  no  farther.  One  arm  sank  to 


30  SMOKE  BELLEW 

the  shoulder,  pillowing  his  cheek  in  the  slush.  As  he 
drew  this  arm  clear,  the  other  sank  to  the  shoulder. 
In  this  position  it  was  impossible  to  slip  the  straps, 
and  the  hundred-weight  on  his  back  would  not  let  him 
rise.  On  hands  and  knees,  sinking  first  one  arm  and 
then  the  other,  he  made  an  effort  to  crawl  to  where 
the  small  sack  of  flour  had  fallen.  But  he  exhausted 
himself  without  advancing,  and  so  churned  and  broke 
the  grass  surface  that  a  tiny  pool  of  water  began 
to  form  in  perilous  proximity  to  his  mouth  and 
nose. 

He  tried  to  throw  himself  on  his  back  with  the 
pack  underneath,  but  this  resulted  in  sinking  both 
arms  to  the  shoulders  and  gave  him  a  foretaste  of 
drowning.  With  exquisite  patience,  he  slowly  with 
drew  one  sucking  arm  and  then  the  other  and  rested 
them  flat  on  the  surface  for  the  support  of  his  chin. 
Then  he  began  to  call  for  help.  After  a  time  he 
heard  the  sound  of  feet  sucking  through  the  mud  as 
some  one  advanced  from  behind. 

"  Lend  a  hand,  friend,"  he  said.  "  Throw  out  a 
life-line  or  something." 

It  was  a  woman's  voice  that  answered,  and  he  rec 
ognized  it. 

"  If  you  '11  unbuckle  the  straps  I  can  get  up." 

The  hundred  pounds  rolled  into  the  mud  with  a 
soggy  noise,  and  he  slowly  gained  his  feet. 

"  A  pretty  predicament,"  Miss  Gastell  laughed,  at 
sight  of  his  mud-covered  face. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  replied  airily.  "  My  favorite 
physical-exercise  stunt.  Try  it  some  time.  It 's 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  31 

great  for  the  pectoral  muscles  and  the  spine."  He 
wiped  his  face,  flinging  the  slush  from  his  hand  with 
a  snappy  jerk. 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried  in  recognition.  "  It 's  Mr.—  ah 
—  Mr.  Smoke  Bellew." 

"  I  thank  you  gravely  for  your  timely  rescue  and 
for  that  name,'"  he  answered.     "  I  have  been  doubly 
baptized.     Henceforth  I  shall  insist  always  on  being 
called  Smoke  Bellew.     It  is  a  strong  name,  and  not   . 
without  significance." 

He  paused,  and  then  voice  and  expression  became 
suddenly  fierce. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  'm  going  to  do  ?  "  he  de 
manded.  "  I  'm  going  back  to  the  States.  I  am  go 
ing  to  get  married.  I  am  going  to  raise  a  large 
family  of  children.  And  then,  as  the  evening  shad 
ows  fall,  I  shall  gather  those  children  about  me  and 
relate  the  sufferings  and  hardships  I  endured  on  the 
Chilkoot  Trail.  And  if  they  don't  cry  —  I  repeat, 
if  they  don't  cry,  I  '11  lambaste  the  stuffing  out  of 
them." 

The  arctic  winter  came  down  apace.  Snow  that 
had  come  to  stay  lay  six  inches  on  the  ground,  and 
the  ice  was  forming  in  quiet  ponds,  despite  the  fierce 
gales  that  blew.  It  was  in  the  late  afternoon,  during 
a  lull  in  such  a  gale,  that  Kit  and  John  Bellew  helped 
the  cousins  load  the  boat  and  watched  it  disappear 
down  the  lake  in  a  snow-squall. 

"  And  now  a  night's  sleep  and  an  early  start  in  the 
morning,"  said  John  Bellew.  "  If  we  are  n't  storm 
bound  at  the  summit  we  '11  make  Dyea  to-morrow 


32  SMOKE  BELLEW 

night,  and  if  we  have  luck  in  catching  a  steamer  we  '11 
be  in  San  Francisco  in  a  week." 

"Enjoyed  your  vacation?"  Kit  asked  absently. 

Their  camp  for  that  last  night  at  Linderman  was 
a  melancholy  remnant.  Everything  of  use,  including 
the  tent,  had  been  taken  by  the  cousins.  A  tattered 
tarpaulin,  stretched  as  a  wind-break,  partially  shel 
tered  them  from  the  driving  snow.  Supper  they 
cooked  on  an  open  fire  in  a  couple  of  battered  and 
discarded  camp  utensils.  All  that  was  left  them  were 
their  blankets  and  food  for  several  meals. 

Only  once  during  supper  did  Kit  speak.  "  Avun 
cular,"  he  said,  "  after  this  I  wish  you  'd  call  me 
Smoke.  I  Ve  made  some  smoke  on  this  trail, 
haven't  I?" 

A  few  minutes  later  he  wandered  away  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  village  of  tents  that  sheltered  the  gold- 
rushers  who  were  still  packing  or  building  their  boats. 
He  was  gone  several  hours,  and  when  he  returned 
and  slipped  into  his  blankets  John  Bellew  was  asleep. 

In  the  darkness  of  a  gale-driven  morning,  Kit 
crawled  out,  built  a  fire  in  his  stocking  feet,  by  which 
he  thawed  out  his  frozen  shoes,  then  boiled  coffee  and 
fried  bacon.  It  was  a  chilly,  miserable  meal.  As 
soon  as  it  was  finished,  they  strapped  their  blankets. 
As  John  Bellew  turned  to  lead  the  way  toward  the 
Chilkoot  Trail,  Kit  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Good-by,  avuncular,"  he  said. 

John  Bellew  looked  at  him  and  swore  in  his  sur 
prise. 

"  Don't  forget,  my  name  's  Smoke,"  Kit  chided. 


THE  TASTE  OF  THE  MEAT  33 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

Kit  waved  his  hand  in  a  general  direction  north 
ward  over  the  storm-lashed  lake.  "  What 's  the  good 
of  turning  back  after  getting  this  far?"  he  asked. 
"  Besides,  I  've  got  my  taste  of  meat,  and  I  like  it. 
I  'm  going  on." 

"You're  broke,"  protested  John  Bellew.  "You 
have  no  outfit." 

"  I  've  got  a  job.  Behold  your  nephew,  Christo-; 
pher  Smoke  Bellew !  He  's  got  a  job.  He  's  a  gen 
tleman's  man.  He's  got  a  job  at  a  hundred  and  fifty 
per  month  and  grub.  He  's  going  down  to  Dawson 
with  a  couple  of  dudes  and  another  gentleman's  man 
—  camp-cook,  boatman,  and  general  all-round  hustler. 
And  O'Hara  and  The  Billow  can  go  to  the  devil. 
Good-by." 

But  John  Bellew  was  dazed,  and  could  only  mutter, 
"  I  don't  understand." 

"  They  say  the  bald-face  grizzlies  are  thick  in  the 
Yukon  Basin,"  Kit  explained.  "  Well,  I  Ve  got  only 
one  suit  of  underclothes,  and  I  'm  going  after  the 
bear-meat,  that 's  all." 


II 

THE   MEAT 

TTALF  the  time  the  wind  blew  a  gale,  and  Smoke 
•*••*•  Bellew  staggered  against  it  along  the  beach. 
In  the  gray  of  dawn  a  dozen  boats  were  being  loaded 
with  the  precious  outfits  packed  across  Chilkoot. 
They  were  clumsy  home-made  boats,  put  together  by 
men  who  were  not  boat-builders,  out  of  ptanks  they 
had  sawed  by  hand  from  green  spruce-trees.  One 
boat,  already  loaded,  was  just  starting,  and  Kit  paused 
to  watch. 

The  wind,  which  was  fair  down  the  lake,  here  blew 
in  squarely  on  the  beach,  kicking  up.a  nasty  sea  in  the 
shallows.  The  men  of  the  departing  boat  waded  in 
high  rubber  boots  as  they  shoved  it  out  toward  deeper 
water.  Twice  they  did  this.  Clambering  aboard 
and  failing  to  row  clear,  the  boat  was  swept  back  and 
grounded.  Kit  noticed  that  the  spray  on  the  sides 
of  the  boat  quickly  turned  to  ice.  The  third  attempt 
was  a  partial  success.  The  last  two  men  to  climb  in 
were  wet  to  their  waists,  but  the  boat  was  afloat. 
They  struggled  awkwardly  at  the  heavy  oars,  and 
slowly  worked  off  shore.  Then  they  hoisted  a  sail 
made  of  blankets,  had  it  carry  away  in  a  gust,  and 
were  swept  a  third  time  back  on  the  freezing  beach. 

Kit  grinned  to  himself  and  went  on.  This  was 

34 


THE  MEAT  35 

what  he  must  expect  to  encounter,  for  he,  too,  in  his 
new  role  of  gentleman's  man,  was  to  start  from  the 
beach  in  a  similar  boat  that  very  day. 

Everywhere  men  were  at  work,  and  at  work  des 
perately,  for  the  closing  down  of  winter  was  so  im 
minent  that  it  was  a  gamble  whether  or  not  they 
would  get  across  the  great  chain  of  lakes  before  the 
freeze-up.  Yet,  when  Kit  arrived  at  the  tent  of 
Messrs.  Sprague  and  Stine,  he  did  not  find  them  stir 
ring. 

By  a  fire,  under  the  shelter  of  a  tarpaulin,  squatted 
a  short,  thick  man,  smoking  a  brown-paper  cigarette. 
"  Hello,"  he  said.  "  Are  you  Mister  Sprague's  new 
man?" 

As  Kit  nodded,  he  thought  he  had  noted  a  shade  of 
emphasis  on  the  Mister  and  the  man,  and  he  was  sure 
of  a  twinkle  in  the  corner  of  the  eye. 

"  Well,  I  'm  Doc  Stine's  man,"  the  other  went  on. 
"  I  'm  five  feet  two  inches  long,  and  my  name 's 
Shorty,  Jack  Short  for  short,  and  sometimes  known 
as  Johnny-on-the-Spot." 

Kit  put  out  his  hand  and  shook.  "  Were  you 
raised  on  bear-meat?  "  he  queried. 

"  Sure,"  was  the  answer;  "  though  my  first  feedin' 
was  buffalo-milk  as  near  as  I  can  remember.  Sit 
down  an'  have  some  grub.  The  bosses  ain't  turned 
out  yet." 

And  despite  the  one  breakfast,  Kit  sat  down  under 
the  tarpaulin  and  ate  a  second  breakfast  thrice  as 
hearty.  The  heavy,  purging  toil  of  weeks  had  given 
him  the  stomach  and  appetite  of  a  wolf.  He  could 


36  SMOKE  BELLEW 

eat  anything,  in  any  quantity,  and  be  unaware  that  he 
possessed  a  digestion.  Shorty  he  found  voluble  and 
pessimistic,  and  from  him  he  received  surprising  tips 
concerning  their  bosses  and  ominous  forecasts  of  the 
expedition.  Thomas  Stanley  Sprague  was  a  budding 
mining  engineer  and  the  son  of  a  millionaire.  Doc 
tor  Adolph  Stine  was  also  the  son  of  a  wealthy  father. 
And,  through  their  fathers,  both  had  been  backed  by 
an  investing  syndicate  in  the  Klondike  adven 
ture. 

"  Oh,  they  're  sure  made  of  money,"  Shorty  ex 
pounded.  "  When  they  hit  the  beach  at  Dyea  freight 
was  seventy  cents,  but  no  Indians.  There  was  a 
party  from  eastern  Oregon,  real  miners,  that  'd  man 
aged  to  get  a  team  of  Indians  together  at  seventy 
cents.  Indians  had  the  straps  on  the  outfit,  three 
thousand  pounds  of  it,  when  along  comes  Sprague  and 
Stine.  They  offered  eighty  cents  and  ninety,  and  at 
a  dollar  a  pound  the  Indians  jumped  the  contract  and 
took  off  their  straps.  Sprague  and  Stine  came 
through,  though  it  cost  them  three  thousand,  and  the 
Oregon  bunch  is  still  on  the  beach.  They  won't  get 
through  till  next  year. 

"  Oh,  they  are  real  hummers,  your  boss  and  mine, 
when  it  comes  to  sheddin'  the  mazuma  an'  never 
mindin'  other  folks'  feelin's.  What  did  they  do  when 
they  hit  Linderman?  The  carpenters  was  just  put 
ting  in  the  last  licks  on  a  boat  they  'd  contracted  to  a 
'Frisco  bunch  for  six  hundred.  Sprague  and  Stine 
slipped  'em  an  even  thousand,  and  they  jumped  their 
contract  It 's  a  good-lookin'  boat,  but  it 's  jiggered 


THE  MEAT  37 

the  other  bunch.  They  Ye  got  their  outfit  right  here, 
but  no  boat.  And  they  're  stuck  for  next  year. 

"  Have  another  cup  of  coffee,  and  take  it  from  me 
that  I  would  n't  travel  with  no  such  outfit  if  I  did  n't 
want  to  get  to  Klondike  so  blamed  bad.  They  ain't 
hearted  right.  They  'd  take  the  crape  off  the  door  of 
a  house  in  mourning  if  they  needed  it  in  their  business. 
Did  you  sign  a  contract?" 

Kit  shook  his  head. 

"  Then  I  'm  sorry  for  you,  pardner.  They  ain't 
no  grub  in  the  country,  and  they  '11  drop  you  cold  as 
soon  as  they  hit  Dawson.  Men  are  going  to  starve 
there  this  winter." 

"  They  agreed  — "  Kit  began. 

"  Verbal,"  Shorty  snapped  him  short.  "  It 's  your 
say-so  against  theirs,  that 's  all.  Well,  anyway, 
what's  your  name,  pardner?" 

"  Call  me  Smoke,"  said  Kit. 

"  Well,  Smoke,  you  '11  have  a  run  for  your  verbal 
contract  just  the  same.  This  is  a  plain  sample  of 
what  to  expect.  They  can  sure  shed  mazuma,  but 
they  can't  work,  or  turn  out  of  bed  in  the  morning. 
We  should  have  been  loaded  and  started  an  hour  ago. 
It 's  you  an'  me  for  the  big  work.  Pretty  soon  you  '11 
hear  'em  shoutin'  for  their  coffee  — '  in  bed,  mind  you, 
and  them  grown  men.  What  d'  ye  know  about 
boatin'  on  the  water?  I  'm  a  cowman  and  a  pros 
pector,  but  I  'm  sure  tenderfooted  on  water,  an'  they 
don't  know  punkins.  What  d'  ye  know?  " 

"  Search  me,"  Kit  answered,  snuggling  in  closer 
under  the  tarpaulin  as  the  snowr  whirled  before  a 


38  SMOKE  BELLEW 

fiercer  gust.  "  I  have  n't  been  on  a  small  boat  since 
a  boy.  But  I  guess  we  can  learn." 

A  corner  of  the  tarpaulin  tore  loose,  and  Shorty  re 
ceived  a  jet  of  driven  snow  down  the  back  of  his  neck. 

"  Oh,  we  can  learn  all  right,"  he  muttered  wrath- 
fully.  "  Sure  we  can.  A  child  can  learn.  But  it 's 
dollars  to  doughnuts  we  don't  even  get  started  to 
day." 

It  was  eight  o'clock  when  the  call  for  coffee  came 
from  the  tent,  and  nearly  nine  before  the  two  em 
ployers  emerged. 

"  Hello,"  said  Sprague,  a  rosy-cheeked,  well-fed 
young  man  of  twenty-five.  "  Time  we  made  a  start, 
Shorty.  You  and — "  Here  he  glanced  interroga 
tively  at  Kit.  "  I  did  n't  quite  catch  your  name  last 
evening." 

"  Smoke." 

"  Well,  Shorty,  you  and  Mr.  Smoke  had  better  be 
gin  loading  the  boat." 

"  Plain  Smoke  —  cut  out  the  Mister,"  Kit  sug 
gested. 

Sprague  nodded  curtly  and  strolled  away  among 
the  tents,  to  be  followed  by  Doctor  Stine,  a  slender, 
pallid  young  man. 

Shorty  looked  significantly  at  his  companion. 
"  Over  a  ton  and  a  half  of  outfit,  and  they  won't  lend 
a  hand.  You  '11  see." 

"  I  guess  it 's  because  we  're  paid  to  do  the  work," 
Kit  answered  cheerfully,  "  and  we  might  as  well  buck 
in." 

To  move  three  thousand  pounds  on  the  shoulders  a 


THE  MEAT  39 

hundred  yards  was  no  slight  task,  and  to  do  it  in  half 
a  gale,  slushing  through  the  snow  in  heavy  rubber 
boots,  was  exhausting.  In  addition  there  was  the  tak 
ing  down  of  the  tent  and  the  packing  of  small  camp 
equipage.  Then  came  the  loading.  As  the  boat  set 
tled  it  had  to  be  shoved  farther  and  farther  out,  in 
creasing  the  distance  they  had  to  wade.  By  two 
o'clock  it  had  all  been  accomplished,  and  Kit,  despite 
his  two  breakfasts,  was  weak  with  the  faintness  of 
hunger.  His  knees  were  shaking  under  him.  Shorty, 
in  similar  predicament,  foraged  through  the  pots  and 
pans,  and  drew  forth  a  big  pot  of  cold  boiled  beans  in 
which  were  imbedded  large  chunks  of  bacon.  There 
was  only  one  spoon,  a  long-handled  one,  and  they 
dipped,  turn  and  turn  about,  into  the  pot.  Kit  was 
filled  with  an  immense  certitude  that  in  all  his  life  he 
had  never  tasted  anything  so  good. 

"  Lord,  man,"  he  mumbled  between  chews,  "  I  never 
knew  what  appetite  was  till  I  hit  the  trail." 

Sprague  and  Stine  arrived  in  the  midst  of  this  pleas 
ant  occupation. 

"What's  the  delay?"  Sprague  complained. 
"  Aren  't  we  ever  going  to  get  started?  " 

Shorty  dipped  in  turn,  and  passed  the  spoon  to  Kit. 
Nor  did  either  speak  till  the  pot  was  empty  and  the 
bottom  scraped. 

"  Of  course  we  ain't  been  doin'  nothing,"  Shorty 
said,  wiping  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 
"  We  ain't  been  doin'  nothing  at  all.  And  of  course 
you  ain't  had  nothing  to  eat.  It  was  sure  careless  of 


me." 


40  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Stine  said  quickly.  "  We  ate  at  one  of 
the  tents  —  friends  of  ours." 

"  Thought  so,"  Shorty  grunted. 

"  But  now  that  you  're  finished,  let  us  get  started," 
Sprague  urged. 

"There's  the  boat,"  said  Shorty.  "She's  sure 
loaded.  Now  just  how  might  you  be  goin'  about  to 
get  started?" 

"  By  climbing  aboard  and  shoving  off.     Come  on." 

They  waded  out,  and  the  employers  got  on  board, 
while  Kit  and  Shorty  shoved  clear.  When  the  waves 
lapped  the  tops  of  their  boots  they  clambered  in.  The 
other  two  men  were  not  prepared  with  the  oars,  and 
the  boat  swept  back  and  grounded.  Half  a  dozen 
times,  with  a  great  expenditure  of  energy,  this  was  re 
peated. 

Shorty  sat  down  disconsolately  on  the  gunwale,  took 
a  chew  of  tobacco,  and  questioned  the  universe,  while 
Kit  baled  the  boat  and  the  other  two  exchanged  un 
kind  remarks. 

"If  you  '11  take  my  orders,  I  '11  get  her  off,"  Sprague 
finally  said. 

The  attempt  was  well  intended,  but  before  he  could 
clamber  on  board  he  was  wet  to  the  waist. 

"  We  've  got  to  camp  and  build  a  fire,"  he  said,  as 
the  boat  grounded  again.  "  I  'm  freezing." 

"  Don't  be  afraid  of  a  wetting,"  Stine  sneered. 
"  Other  men  have  gone  off  to-day  wetter  than  you. 
Now  I'm  going  to  take  her  out." 

This  time  it  was  he  who  got  the  wetting  and  who 
announced  with  chattering  teeth  the  need  of  a  fire. 


THE  MEAT  41 

"  A  little  splash  like  that!  "  Sprague  chattered  spite 
fully.  "  We  '11  go  on." 

"  Shorty,  dig  out  my  clothes-bag  and  make  a  fire/' 
the  other  commanded. 

"  You  '11  do  nothing  of  the  sort/'  Sprague  cried. 

Shorty  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  expectorated, 
but  did  not  move. 

"  He  's  working  for  me,  and  I  guess  he  obeys  my 
orders,"  Stine  retorted.  "  Shorty,  take  that  bag 
ashore." 

Shorty  obeyed,  and  Sprague  shivered  in  the  boat. 
Kit,  having  received  no  orders,  remained  inactive, 
glad  of  the  rest. 

"  A  boat  divided  against  itself  won't  float,"  he  so 
liloquized. 

"  What 's  that?  "  Sprague  snarled  at  him. 

"  Talking  to  myself  —  habit  of  mine,"  he  answered. 

His  employer  favored  him  with  a  hard  look,  and 
sulked  several  minutes  longer.  Then  he  surrendered. 
"  Get  out  my  bag,  Smoke,"  he  ordered,  "  and  lend  a 
hand  with  that  fire.  We  won't  get  off  till  morning 
now." 

Next  day  the  gale  still  blew.  Lake  Linderman  was 
no  more  than  a  narrow  mountain  gorge  filled  with 
water.  Sweeping  down  from  the  mountains  through 
this  funnel,  the  wind  was  irregular,  blowing  great 
guns  at  times  and  at  other  times  dwindling  to  a  strong 
breeze. 

"If  you  give  me  a  shot  at  it,  I  think  I  can  get 
her  off,"  Kit  said,  when  all  was  ready  for  the 
start. 


42  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?"  Stine  snapped  at 
him. 

"  Search  me,"  Kit  answered,  and  subsided. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  worked  for  wages  in 
his  life,  but  he  was  learning  the  discipline  of  it  fast. 
Obediently  and  cheerfully  he  joined  in  various  vain 
efforts  to  get  clear  of  the  beach. 

"How  would  you  go  about  it?"  Sprague  finally 
half  panted,  half  whined  at  him. 

"  Sit  down  and  get  a  good  rest  till  a  lull  comes  in 
the  wind,  and  then  buck  in  for  all  we  're  worth." 

Simple  as  the  idea  was,  he  had  been  the  first  to 
evolve  it;  the  first  time  it  was  applied  it  worked,  and 
they  hoisted  a  blanket  to  the  mast  and  sped  down  the 
lake.  Stine  and  Sprague  immediately  became  cheer 
ful.  Shorty,  despite  his  chronic  pessimism,  was  al 
ways  cheerful,  and  Kit  was  too  interested  to  be  other 
wise.  Sprague  struggled  with  the  steering-sweep  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  then  looked  appealingly  at 
Kit,  who  relieved  him. 

"  My  arms  are  fairly  broken  with  the  strain  of  it," 
Sprague  muttered  apologetically. 

"You  never  ate  bear-meat,  did  you?"  Kit  asked 
sympathetically. 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean?  " 

"Oh,  nothing;  I  was  just  wondering."  But  be 
hind  the  employer's  back  Kit  caught  the  approving 
grin  of  Shorty,  who  had  already  caught  the  whim  of 
his  metaphor. 

Kit  steered  the  length  of  Linderman,  displaying  an 
aptitude  that  caused  both  young  men  of  money  and 


THE  MEAT  43 

disinclination  for  work  to  name  him  boat-steerer. 
Shorty  was  no  less  pleased,  and  volunteered  to 
continue  cooking  and  leave  the  boat  work  to  the 
other. 

Between  Linderman  and  Lake  Bennett  was  a  port 
age.  The  boat,  lightly  loaded,  was  lined  down  the 
small  but  violent  connecting  stream,  and  here  Kit 
learned  a  vast  deal  more  about  boats  and  water.  But 
when  it  came  to  packing  the  outfit,  Stine  and  Sprague 
disappeared,  and  their  men  spent  two  days  of  back- 
breaking  toil  in  getting  the  outfit  across.  And  this 
was  the  history  of  many  miserable  days  of  the  trip  — - 
Kit  and  Shorty  working  to  exhaustion,  while  their 
masters  toiled  not  and  demanded  to  be  waited  upon. 

But  the  iron-bound  arctic  winter  continued  to  close 
down,  and  they  were  held  back  by  numerous  and  un 
avoidable  delays.  At  Windy  Arm  Stine  arbitrarily 
dispossessed  Kit  of  the  steering-sweep  and  within  the 
hour  wrecked  the  boat  on  a  wave-beaten  lee  shore. 
Two  days  were  lost  here  in  making  repairs,  and  the 
morning  of  the  fresh  start,  as  they  came  down  to  em 
bark,  on  stern  and  bow,  in  large  letters,  was  charcoaled 
"  The  Chekako." 

Kit  grinned  at  the  appropriateness  of  the  invidious 
word. 

"  Huh !  "  said  Shorty,  when  accused  by  Stine.  "  I 
can  sure  read  and  spell,  an'  I  know  that  chekako 
means  tenderfoot,  but  my  education  never  went  high 
enough  to  learn  me  to  spell  a  jaw-breaker  like  that." 

Both  employers  looked  daggers  at  Kit,  for  the  in 
sult  rankled ;  nor  did  he  mention  that  the  night  before 


44  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Shorty  had  besought  him  for  the  spelling  of  that  par 
ticular  word. 

"  That 's  'most  as  bad  as  your  bear-meat  slam  at 
'em,"  Shorty  confided  later. 

Kit  chuckled.  Along  with  the  continuous  discov 
ery  of  his  own  powers  had  come  an  ever-increasing 
disapproval  of  the  two  masters.  It  was  not  so  much 
irritation,  which  was  always  present,  as  disgust.  He 
had  got  his  taste  of  the  meat,  and  liked  it;  but  they 
were  teaching  him  how  not  to  eat  it.  Privily  he 
thanked  God  that  he  was  not  made  as  they.  He  came 
to  dislike  them  to  a  degree  that  bordered  on  hatred. 
Their  malingering  bothered  him  less  than  their  help 
less  inefficiency.  Somewhere  in  him  old  Isaac  Bellew 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  hardy  Bellews  were  making 
good. 

"  Shorty,"  he  said  one  day,  in  the  usual  delay  of 
getting  started,  "  I  could  almost  fetch  them  a  rap  over 
the  head  with  an  oar  and  bury  them  in  the  river." 

"  Same  here,"  Shorty  agreed.  "  They  're  not 
meat-eaters.  They  're  fish-eaters,  and  they  sure 
stink." 

They  came  to  the  rapids ;  first,  the  Box  Canyon,  and 
then,  several  miles  below,  the  White  Horse.  The 
Box  Canyon  was  adequately  named.  It  was  a  box,  a 
trap.  Once  in  it,  the  only  way  out  was  through.  On 
either  side  arose  perpendicular  walls  of  rock.  The 
river  narrowed  to  a  fraction  of  its  width  and  roared 
through  this  gloomy  passage  in  a  madness  of  motion 
that  heaped  the  water  in  the  center  into  a  ridge  fully 
eight  feet  higher  than  at  the  rocky  sides.  This  ridge, 


THE  MEAT  45 

in  turn,  was  crested  with  stiff,  upstanding  waves 
that  curled  over  yet  remained  each  in  its  unvary 
ing  place.  The  canyon  was  well  feared,  for  it  had 
collected  its  toll  of  dead  from  the  passing  gold- 
rushers. 

Tying  to  the  bank  above,  where  lay  a  score  of  other 
anxious  boats,  Kit  and  his  companions  went  ahead  on 
foot  to  investigate.  They  crept  to  the  brink  and  gazed 
down  at  the  swirl  of  water.  Sprague  drew  back, 
shuddering. 

"  My  God !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  A  swimmer  has  n't 
a  chance  in  that." 

Shorty  touched  Kit  significantly  with  his  elbow  and 
said  in  an  undertone: 

"  Cold  feet.  Dollars  to  doughnuts  they  don't  go 
jyhrough." 

Kit  scarcely  heard.  From  the  beginning  of  the 
boat  trip  he  had  been  learning  the  stubbornness  and 
inconceivable  viciousness  of  the  elements,  and  this 
glimpse  of  what  was  below  him  acted  as  a  challenge. 
"  We  've  got  to  ride  that  ridge/'  he  said.  "  If  we  get 
off  it  we  '11  hit  the  walls." 

"  And  never  know  what  hit  us,"  was  Shorty's  ver 
dict.  "  Can  you  swim  ?  " 

"  I  'd  wish  I  could  n't  if  anything  went  wrong  in 
there." 

!<  That 's  \vhat  I  say,"  a  stranger,  standing  along 
side  and  peering  down  into  the  canyon,  said  mourn 
fully.  "  And  I  wish  I  were  through  it." 

"  I  would  n't  sell  my  chance  to  go  through,"  Kit 
answered. 


46  SMOKE  BELLEW 

He  spoke  honestly,  but  it  was  with  the  idea  of  heart 
ening  the  man.  He  turned  to  go  back  to  the  boat. 

"Are  you  going  to  tackle  it?  "  the  man  asked. 

Kit  nodded. 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  the  courage  to,"  the  other  con 
fessed.  "  I  've  been  here  for  hours.  The  longer  I 
look  the  more  afraid  I  am.  I  am  not  a  boatman,  and 
I  have  with  me  only  my  nephew,  who  is  a  young  boy, 
and  my  wife.  If  you  get  through  safely,  will  you  run 
my  boat  through?  " 

Kit  looked  at  Shorty,  who  delayed  to  answer. 

"  He  's  got  his  wife  with  him,"  Kit  suggested.  Nor 
had  he  mistaken  his  man. 

"  Sure,"  Shorty  affirmed.  "  It  was  just  what  I 
was  stopping  to  think  about.  I  knew  there  was  some 
reason  I  ought  to  do  it." 

Again  they  turned  to  go,  but  Sprague  and  Stine 
made  no  movement. 

"  Good  luck,  Smoke,"  Sprague  called  to  him.  "  I  '11 
—  er  — •"  He  hesitated.  "  I  '11  just  stay  here  and 
watch  you." 

"  We  need  three  men  in  the  boat,  two  at  the  oars 
and  one  at  the  steering-sweep,"  Kit  said  quietly. 

Sprague  looked  at  Stine. 

"  I  'm  cursed  if  I  do,"  said  that  gentleman.  "  If 
you  're  not  afraid  to  stand  here  and  look  on,  I  'm  not." 

"  Who  's  afraid?  "  Sprague  demanded  hotly.  Stine 
retorted  in  kind,  and  their  two  men  left  them  in  the 
thick  of  a  squabble. 

"  We  can  do  without  them,"  Kit  said  to  Shorty. 
"  You  take  the  bow  with  a  paddle,  and  I  '11  handle  the 


THE  MEAT  47 

steering-sweep.  All  you  '11  have  to  do  is  just  to  help 
keep  her  straight.  Once  we  're  started,  you  won't  be 
able  to  hear  me,  so  just  keep  on  keeping  her  straight." 

They  cast  off  the  boat  and  worked  out  to  middle 
in  the  quickening  current.  From  the  canyon  came  an 
ever-growing  roar.  IJThe  river  sucked  in  to  the  en 
trance  with  the  smoothness  of  molten  glass,  and  here, 
as  the  darkening  walls  received  them,  Shorty  took  a 
chew  of  tobacco  and  dipped  his  paddle.  The  boat 
leaped  on  the  first  crests  of  the  ridge,  and  they  were 
deafened  by  the  uproar  of  wild  water  that  rever 
berated  from  the  narrow  walls  and  multiplied  itself. 
They  were  half-smothered  with  flying  spray.  At 
times  Kit  could  not  see  his  comrade  at  the  bow.  It 
was  only  a  matter  of  two  minutes,  in  which  time  they 
rode  the  ridge  three-quarters  of  a  mile  and  emerged 
in  safety  and  tied  to  the  bank  in  the  eddy  below. 

Shorty  emptied  his  mouth  of  tobacco  juice  he  had 
forgotten  to  spit,  and  spoke.  :'  That  was  bear-meat," 
he  exulted,  "  the  real  bear-meat.  Say,  we  went  a  few, 
did  n't  we  ?  Smoke,  I  don't  mind  tellin'  you  in  confi 
dence  that  before  \ve  started  I  was  the  gosh-dangdest 
scaredest  man  this  side  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
Now  I  'm  a  bear-eater.  Come  on  an'  we  '11  run  that 
other  boat  through." 

Midway  back,  on  foot,  they  encountered  their  em 
ployers,  who  had  watched  the  passage  from  above. 

"There  comes  the  fish-eaters,"  said  Shorty. 
"  Keep  to  win'ward." 

After  running  the  stranger's  boat  through,  Kit  and 
Shorty  met  his  wife,  a  slender,  girlish  woman  whose 


48  SMOKE  BELLEW 

blue  eyes  were  moist  with  gratitude.  Breck  himself 
tried  to  hand  Kit  fifty  dollars,  and  then  attempted  it 
on  Shorty. 

"  Stranger,"  was  the  latter 's  rejection,  "  I  come 
into  this  country  to  make  money  outa  the  ground  an* 
not  outa  my  fellow  critters." 

Breck,  the  stranger,  rummaged  in  his  boat  and 
produced  a  demijohn  of  whiskey.  Shorty's  hand 
half  went  out  to  it  and  stopped  abruptly.  He  shook 
his  head. 

"There's  that  blamed  White  Horse  right  below, 
an*  they  say  it  's  worse  than  the  Box.  I  reckon  I 
don't  dast  tackle  any  lightning." 

Several  miles  below  they  ran  in  to  the  bank,  and 
all  four  walked  down  to  look  at  the  bad  water.  The 
river,  which  was  a  succession  of  rapids,  was  here  de 
flected  toward  the  right  bank  by  a  rocky  reef.  The 
whole  body  of  water,  rushing  crookedly  into  the  nar 
row  passage,  accelerated  its  speed  frightfully  and  was 
up-flung  into  huge  waves,  white  and  wrathful.  This 
was  the  dread  Mane  of  the  White  Horse,  and  here  an 
even  heavier  toll  of  dead  had  been  exacted.  On  one 
side  of  the  Mane  was  a  corkscrew  curl-over  and  suck- 
under,  and  on  the  opposite  side  was  the  big  whirlpool. 
To  go  through,  the  Mane  itself  must  be  ridden. 

"  This  plumb  rips  the  strings  outa  the  Box,"  Shorty 
concluded. 

As  they  watched,  a  boat  took  the  head  of  the  rapids 
above.  It  was  a  large  boat,  fully  thirty  feet  long, 
laden  with  several  tons  of  outfit,  and  handled  by  six 
men.  Before  it  reached  the  Mane  it  was  plunging 


THE  MEAT  49 

and  leaping,  at  times  almost  hidden  by  the  foam  and 
spray. 

Shorty  shot  a  slow,  sidelong  glance  at  Kit  and  said : 
"  She  's  fair  smoking,  and  she  has  n't  hit  the  worst. 
They  've  hauled  the  oars  in.  There  she  takes  it  now. 
God !  She  's  gone !  No ;  there  she  is !  " 

Big  as  the  boat  was,  it  had  been  buried  from  sight 
in  the  flying  smother  between  crests.  The  next  mo 
ment,  in  the  thick  of  the  Mane,  the  boat  leaped  up  a 
crest  and  into  view.  To  Kit's  amazement  he  saw  the 
whole  long  bottom  clearly  outlined.  The  boat,  for 
the  fraction  of  an  instant,  was  in  the  air,  the  men  sit 
ting  idly  in  their  places,  all  save  one  in  the  stern,  who 
stood  at  the  steering-sweep.  Then  came  the  down 
ward  plunge  into  the  trough  and  a  second  disappear 
ance.  Three  times  the  boat  leaped  and  buried  itself, 
then  those  on  the  bank  saw  its  nose  take  the  whirlpool 
as  it  sjipped  off  the  Mane.  The  steersman,  vainly 
opposing  with  full  weight  on  the  steering-gear,  sur 
rendered  to  the  whirlpool  and  helped  the  boat  to  take 
the  circle. 

Three  times  it  went  around,  each  time  so  close  to 
the  rocks  on  which  Kit  and  Shorty  stood  that  either 
could  have  leaped  on  board.  The  steersman,  a  man 
with  a  reddish  beard  of  recent  growth,  waved  his 
hand  to  them.  The  only  way  out  of  the  whirlpool 
was  by  the  Mane,  and  on  the  third  round  the  boat  en 
tered  the  Mane  obliquely  at  its  upper  end.  Possibly 
out  of  fear  of  the  draw  of  the  whirlpool,  the  steers 
man  did  not  attempt  to  straighten  out  quickly  enough. 
When  he  did,  it  was  too  late.  Alternately  in  the  air 


50  SMOKE  BELLEW 

and  buried,  the  boat  angled  the  Mane  and  was  sucked 
into  and  through  the  stiff  wall  of  the  corkscrew  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  river.  A  hundred  feet  below, 
boxes  and  bales  began  to  float  up.  Then  appeared 
the  bottom  of  the  boat  and  the  scattered  heads  of  six 
men.  Two  managed  to  make  the  bank  in  the  eddy 
below.  The  others  were  drawn  under,  and  the  gen 
eral  flotsam  was  lost  to  view,  borne  on  by  the  swift 
current  around  the  bend. 

There  was  a  long  minute  of  silence.  Shorty  was 
the  first  to  speak. 

"  Come  on,"  he  said.  "  We  might  as  well  tackle  it. 
My  feet  '11  get  cold  if  I  stay  here  any  longer." 

"  We  '11  smoke  some,"  Kit  grinned  at  him. 

"  And  you  '11  sure  earn  your  name,"  was  the 
rejoinder.  Shorty  turned  to  their  employers. 
"  Comin'  ?  "  he  queried. 

Perhaps  the  roar  of  the  water  prevented  them  from 
hearing  the  invitation. 

Shorty  and  Kit  tramped  back  through  a  foot  of 
snow  to  the  head  of  the  rapids  and  cast  off  the  boat. 
Kit  was  divided  between  two  impressions :  one,  of  the 
caliber  of  his  comrade,  which  served  as  a  spur  to  him ; 
the  other,  likewise  a  spur,  was  the  knowledge  that  old 
Isaac  Bellew,  and  all  the  other  Bellews,  had  done 
things  like  this  in  their  westward  march  of  empire. 
What  they  had  done,  he  could  do.  It  was  the  meat, 
the  strong  meat,  and  he  knew,  as  never  before,  that  it 
required  strong  men  to  eat  such  meat. 

"  You  Ve  sure  got  to  keep  the  top  of  the  ridge," 
Shorty  shouted  at  him,  the  plug  of  tobacco  lifting  to 


THE  MEAT  51 

his  mouth  as  the  boat  quickened  in  the  quickening 
current  and  took  the  head  of  the  rapids. 

Kit  nodded,  swayed  his  strength  and  weight  tenta 
tively  on  the  steering-gear,  and  headed  the  boat  for 
the  plunge. 

Several  minutes  later,  half -swamped  and  lying 
against  the  bank  in  the  eddy  below  the  White  Horse, 
Shorty  spat  out  a  mouthful  of  tobacco  juice  and  shook 
Kit's  hand. 

"Meat!  Meat!"  Shorty  chanted.  "We  eat  it 
raw!  We  eat  it  alive!" 

At  the  top  of  the  bank  they  met  Breck.  His  wife 
stood  at  a  little  distance.  Kit  shook  his  hand. 

"  I  'm  afraid  your  boat  can't  make  it,"  he  said. 
"  It  is  smaller  than  ours  and  a  bit  cranky." 

The  man  pulled  out  a  roll  of  bills.  "  I  '11  give  you 
each  a  hundred  if  you  run  it  through." 

Kit  looked  out  and  up  the  tossing  Mane  of  the 
White  Horse.  A  long,  gray  twilight  was  falling,  it 
was  turning  colder,  and  the  landscape  seemed  taking 
on  a  savage  bleakness. 

"It  ain't  that,"  Shorty  was  saying.  "We  don't 
want  your  money.  Would  n't  touch  it  nohow.  But 
my  pardner  is  the  real  meat  with  boats,  and  when  he 
says  yourn  ain't  safe  I  reckon  he  knows  what  he  's 
talkin'  about." 

Kit  nodded  affirmation,  and  chanced  to  glance  at 
Mrs.  Breck.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him,  and  he 
knew  that  if  ever  he  had  seen  prayer  in  a  woman's 
eyes  he  was  seeing  it  then.  Shorty  followed  his  gaze 
and  saw  what  he  saw.  They  looked  at  each  other  in 


52  SMOKE  BELLEW 

confusion  and  did  not  speak.  Moved  by  the  common 
impulse,  they  nodded  to  each  other  and  turned  to  the 
trail  that  led  to  the  head  of  the  rapids.  They  had  not 
gone  a  hundred  yards  when  they  met  Stine  and 
Sprague  coming  down. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  the  latter  demanded. 

"To  fetch  that  other  boat  through,"  Shorty  an 
swered. 

"  No,  you  're  not.  It 's  getting  dark.  You  two 
are  going  to  pitch  camp." 

So  huge  was  Kit's  disgust  that  he  forebore  to  speak. 

"  He  's  got  his  wife  with  him,"  Shorty  said. 

"  That 's  his  lookout,"  Stine  contributed. 

"  And  Smoke's  and  mine,"  was  Shorty's  retort. 

"  I  forbid  you,"  Sprague  said  harshly.  "  Smoke, 
if  you  go  another  step  I  '11  discharge  you." 

"  And  you,  too,  Shorty,"  Stine  added. 

"  And  a  devil  of  a  pickle  you  '11  be  in  with  us  fired," 
Shorty  replied.  "  How  '11  you  get  your  blamed  boat 
to  Dawson  ?  Who  '11  serve  you  coffee  in  your 
blankets  and  manicure  your  finger-nails?  Come  on, 
Smoke.  They  don't  dast  fire  us.  Besides,  we  Ve  got 
agreements.  If  they  fire  us  they  Ve  got  to  divvy  up 
grub  to  last  us  through  the  winter." 

Barely  had  they  shoved  Breck's  boat  out  from  the 
bank  and  caught  the  first  rough  water,  when  the  waves 
began  to  lap  aboard.  They  were  small  waves,  but  it 
was  an  earnest  of  what  was  to  come.  Shorty  cast 
back  a  quizzical  glance  as  he  gnawed  at  his  inevitable 
plug,  and  Kit  felt  a  strange  rush  of  warmth  at  his 
heart  for  this  man  who  could  n't  swim  and  who 
could  n't  back  out. 


THE  MEAT  53 

The  rapids  grew  stiffer,  and  the  spray  began  to 
fly.  In  the  gathering  darkness,  Kit  glimpsed  the 
Mane  and  the  crooked  fling  of  the  current  into  it. 
He  worked  into  this  crooked  current,  and  felt  a  glow 
of  satisfaction  as  the  boat  hit  the  head  of  the  Mane 
squarely  in  the  middle.  After  that,  in  the  smother, 
leaping  and  burying  and  swamping,  he  had  no  clear 
impression  of  anything  save  that  he  swung  his  weight 
on  the  steering-oar  and  wished  his  uncle  were  there  to 
see.  They  emerged,  breathless,  wet  through,  the  boat 
filled  with  water  almost  to  the  gunwale.  Lighter 
pieces  of  baggage  and  outfit  were  floating  inside  the 
boat.  A  few  careful  strokes  on  Shorty's  part  worked 
the  boat  into  the  draw  of  the  eddy,  and  the  eddy  did 
the  rest  till  the  boat  softly  touched  the  bank.  Look 
ing  down  from  above  was  Mrs.  Breck.  Her  prayer 
had  been  answered,  and  the  tears  were  streaming 
down  her  cheeks. 

"  You  boys  have  simply  got  to  take  the  money," 
Breck  called  down  to  them. 

Shorty  stood  up,  slipped,  and  sat  down  in  the  water, 
while  the  boat  dipped  one  gunwale  under  and  righted 
again. 

"  Damn  the  money,"  said  Shorty.  "  Fetch  out  that 
whiskey.  Now  that  it 's  over  I  'm  getting  cold  feet, 
an'  I  Jm  sure  likely  to  have  a  chill." 

In  the  morning,  as  usual,  they  were  among  the  last 
of  the  parties  to  start.  Breck,  despite  his  boating  in 
efficiency,  and  with  only  his  wife  and  nephew  for 
crew,  had  broken  camp,  loaded  his  boat,  and  pulled 
out  at  the  first  streak  of  day.  But  there  was  no  hur 
rying  Stine  and  Sprague,  who  seemed  incapable  of 


54  SMOKE  BELLEW 

realising  that  the  freeze-up  might  come  at  any  time. 
They  malingered,  got  in  the  way,  delayed,  and 
doubled  the  work  of  Kit  and  Shorty. 

"  I  'm  sure  losing  my  respect  for  God,  seein'  as  he 
must  'a'  made  them  two  mistakes  in  human  form," 
was  the  latter's  blasphemous  way  of  expressing  his 
disgust. 

"  Well,  you  're  the  real  goods,  at  any  rate,"  Kit 
grinned  back  at  him.  "  It  makes  me  respect  God  the 
more  just  to  look  at  you." 

"  He  was  sure  goin'  some,  eh  ?  "  was  Shorty's  fash 
ion  of  overcoming  the  embarrassment  of  the  compli 
ment. 

The  trail  by  water  crossed  Lake  Labarge.  Here 
was  no  fast  current,  but  a  tideless  stretch  of  forty 
miles  which  must  be  rowed  unless  a  fair  wind  blew. 
But  the  time  for  fair  wind  was  past,  and  an  icy  gale 
blew  in  their  teeth  out  of  the  north.  This  made  a 
rough  sea,  against  which  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
pull  the  boat.  Added  to  their  troubles  was  driving 
snow;  also,  the  freezing  of  the  water  on  their  oar- 
blades  kept  one  man  occupied  in  chopping  it  off  with 
a  hatchet.  Compelled  to  take  their  turn  at  the  oars, 
Sprague  and  Stine  patiently  loafed.  Kit  learned  ho\\ 
to  throw  his  weight  on  an  oar,  but  he  noted  that  his 
employers  made  a  seeming  of  throwing  their  weight 
and  that  they  dipped  their  oars  at  a  cheating 
angle. 

At  the  end  of  three  hours,  Sprague  pulled  his  oar 
in  and  said  they  would  run  back  into  the  mouth  of  the 
river  for  shelter.  Stine  seconded  him,  and  the  sev- 


THE  MEAT  55 

era!  hard-won  miles  were  lost.  A  second  day,  and  a 
third,  the  same  fruitless  attempt  was  made.  In  the 
river  mouth,  the  continually  arriving  boats  from 
White  Horse  made  a  flotilla  of  over  two  hundred. 
Each  day  forty  or  fifty  arrived,  and  only  two  or  three 
won  to  the  northwest  shore  of  the  lake  and  did  not 
come  back.  Ice  was  now  forming  in  the  eddies  and 
connecting  from  eddy  to  eddy  in  thin  lines  around  the 
points.  The  freeze-up  was  very  imminent. 

"  We  could  make  it  if  they  had  the  souls  of  clams," 
Kit  told  Shorty,  as  they  dried  their  moccasins  by  the 
fire  on  the  evening  of  the  third  day.  "  We  could 
have  made  it  to-day  if  they  had  n't  turned  back.  An 
other  hour's  work  \vould  have  fetched  that  west  shore. 
They  're  —  they  're  babes  in  the  woods." 

"  Sure,"  Shorty  agreed.  He  turned  his  moccasin 
to  the  flame  and  debated  a  moment.  "  Look  here, 
Smoke.  It 's  hundreds  of  miles  to  Dawson.  If  we 
don't  want  to  freeze  in  here,  we  've  got  to  do  some 
thing.  What  d'  ye  say?" 

Kit  looked  at  him,  and  wraited. 

:<  We  Ve  got  the  immortal  cinch  on  them  two- 
babes,"  Shorty  expounded.  '''  They  can  give  orders 
\an'  shed  mazuma,  but  as  you  say,  they  're  plumb 
'babes.  If  we  're  going  to  Dawson,  we  got  to  take 
ccharge  of  this  here  outfit." 

They  looked  at  each  other. 

"  It 's  a  go,"  said  Kit,  as  his  hand  went  out  in  rati 
fication. 

In  the  morning,  long  before  daylight,  Shorty  is 
sued  his  call.  "  Come  on !  "  he  roared.  "  Tumble 


56  SMOKE  BELLEW 

out,  you  sleepers !  Here  's  your  coffee !  Kick  into  it ! 
We  're  goin'  to  make  a  start !  " 

Grumbling  and  complaining,  Stine  and  Sprague 
were  forced  to  get  under  way  two  hours  earlier  than 
ever  before.  If  anything,  the  gale  was  stiff er,  and  in 
a  short  time  every  man's  face  was  iced  up,  while  the 
oars  were  heavy  with  ice.  Three  hours  they  strug 
gled,  and  four,  one  man  steering,  one  chopping  ice, 
two  toiling  at  the  oars,  and  each  taking  his  various 
turns.  The  northwest  shore  loomed  nearer  and 
nearer.  The  gale  blew  ever  harder,  and  at  last 
Sprague  pulled  in  his  oar  in  token  of  surrender. 
Shorty  sprang  to  it,  though  his  relief  had  only  begun. 

"  Chop  ice,"  he  said,  handing  Sprague  the  hatchet. 

"  But  what 's  the  use  ?  "  the  other  whined.  "  We 
can't  make  it.  We  're  going  to  turn  back." 

"  We  're  going  on,"  said  Shorty.  "  Chop  ice.  An' 
when  you  feel  better  you  can  spell  me." 

It  was  heart-breaking  toil,  but  they  gained  the 
shore,  only  to  find  it  composed  of  surge-beaten  rocks 
and  cliffs,  with  no  place  to  land. 

"  I  told  you  so,"  Sprague  whimpered. 

"  You  never  peeped,"  Shorty  answered. 

"  We  're  going  back." 

Nobody  spoke,  and  Kit  held  the  boat  into  the  seas 
as  they  skirted  the  forbidding  shore.  Sometimes  they 
gained  no  more  than  a  foot  to  the  stroke,  and  there 
were  times  when  two  or  three  strokes  no  more  than 
enabled  them  to  hold  their  own.  He  did  his  best  to 
hearten  the  two  weaklings.  He  pointed  out  that  the 
boats  which  had  won  to  this  shore  had  never  come 


THE  MEAT  57 

back.  Perforce,  he  argued,  they  had  found  a  shelter 
somewhere  ahead.  Another  hour  they  labored,  and 
a  second. 

"If  you  fellows  'd  put  into  your  oars  some  of  that 
coffee  you  swig  in  your  blankets,  we  'd  make  it,"  was 
Shorty's  encouragement.  "  You  're  just  goin' 
through  the  motions  an'  not  pullin'  a  pound." 

A  few  minutes  later,  Sprague  drew  in  his  oar  again. 
"  I  'm  finished,"  he  said,  and  there  were  tears  in  his 
voice. 

"  So  are  the  rest  of  us,"  Kit  answered,  himself 
ready  to  cry  or  to  commit  murder,  so  great  was  his 
exhaustion.  "  But  we  're  going  on  just  the  same." 

"  We  're  going  back.     Turn  the  boat  around." 

"  Shorty,  if  he  won't  pull,  take  that  oar  yourself," 
Kit  commanded. 

"  Sure,"  was  the  answer.     "  He  can  chop  ice." 

But  Sprague  refused  to  give  over  the  oar;  Stine 
had  ceased  rowing,  and  the  boat  was  drifting  back 
ward. 

"  Turn  around,  Smoke,"  Sprague  ordered. 

And  Kit,  who  never  in  his  life  had  cursed  any  man, 
astonished  himself.  "  I  '11  see  you  in  hell  first,"  he 
replied.  "  Take  hold  of  that  oar  and  pull." 

It  is  in  moments  of  exhaustion  that  men  lose  all 
their  reserves  of  civilization,  and  such  a  moment  had 
come.  Each  man  had  reached  the  breaking-point. 
Sprague  jerked  off  a  mitten,  drew  his  revolver,  and 
turned  it  on  his  steersman.  This  was  a  new  experi 
ence  to  Kit.  He  had  never  had  a  gun  presented  at 
him  in  his  life.  And  now,  to  his  surprise,  it  seemed 


58  SMOKE  BELLEW 

to  mean  nothing  at  all.  It  was  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world. 

"  If  you  don't  put  that  gun  up,"  he  said,  "  I  '11  take 
it  away  and  rap  you  over  the  knuckles  with  it." 

"If  you  don't  turn  the  boat  around,  I  '11  shoot  you/' 
Sprague  threatened. 

Then  Shorty  took  a  hand.  He  ceased  chopping  ice 
and  stood  up  behind  Sprague.  "  Go  on  an'  shoot," 
said  Shorty,  wiggling  the  hatchet.  "  I  'm  just  aching 
for  a  chance  to  brain  you.  Go  on  an'  start  the  fes 
tivities." 

''  This  is  mutiny,"  Stine  broke  in.  "  You  were  en 
gaged  to  obey  orders." 

Shorty  turned  on  him.  "  Oh,  you  '11  get  yours  as 
soon  as  I  finish  with  your  pardner,  you  little  hog- 
wallopin'  snooper,  you." 

"  Sprague,"  Kit  said,  "  I  '11  give  you  just  thirty 
seconds  to  put  away  that  gun  and  get  that  oar 
out." 

Sprague  hesitated,  gave  a  short  hysterical  laugh, 
put  the  revolver  away,  and  bent  his  back  to  the  work. 

For  two  hours  more,  inch  by  inch,  they  fought 
their  way  along  the  edge  of  the  foaming  rocks,  until 
Kit  feared  he  had  made  a  mistake.  And  then,  when 
on  the  verge  of  himself  turning  back,  they  came 
abreast  of  a  narrow  opening,  not  twenty  feet  wide, 
which  led  into  a  land-locked  enclosure  where  the 
fiercest  gusts  scarcely  flawed  the  surface.  It  was 
the  haven  gained  by  the  boats  of  previous  days. 
They  landed  on  a  shelving  beach,  and  the  two  em 
ployers  lay  in  collapse  in  the  boat,  while  Kit  and 


If  you  don't  turn  the  boat  around,  I'll  shoot  you,"  Sprague 
threatened. 


THE  MEAT  61 

Shorty  pitched  the  tent,  built  a  fire,  and  started  the 
cooking. 

"What  is  a  hog-walloping  snooper,  Shorty?"  Kit 
asked. 

"Blamed  if  I  know,"  was  the  answer;  "but  he's 
one,  just  the  same." 

The  gale,  which  had  been  dying  quickly,  ceased  at 
nightfall,  and  it  came  on  clear  and  cold.  A  cup  of 
coffee,  set  aside  to  cool  and  forgotten,  a  few  minutes 
later  was  found  coated  with  half  an  inch  of  ice.  At 
eight  o'clock,  when  Sprague  and  Stine,  already  rolled 
in  their  blankets,  were  sleeping  the  sleep  of  exhaus 
tion,  Kit  came  back  from  a  look  at  the  boat. 

"  It 's  the  freeze-up,  Shorty,"  he  announced. 
''  There  's  a  skin  of  ice  over  the  whole  pond  already." 

[t  What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"  There 's  only  one  thing.  The  lake  of  course 
freezes  first.  The  rapid  current  of  the  river  may 
keep  it  open  for  days.  This  time  to-morrow  any  boat 
caught  in  Lake  Labarge  remains  there  until  next 
year?" 

"  You  mean  we  got  to  get  out  to-night  ?     Now  ?  " 

Kit  nodded. 

"  Tumble  out,  you  sleepers !  "  was  Shorty's  answer, 
couched  in  a  roar,  as  he  began  casting  off  the  guy- 
ropes  of  the  tent. 

The  other  two  awoke,  groaning  with  the  pain  of 
stiffened  muscles  and  the  pain  of  rousing  from  the 
sleep  of  exhaustion. 

"WThat  time  is  it?"  Stine  asked. 

"  Half-past  eight." 


62  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  It 's  dark  yet,"  was  the  objection. 

Shorty  jerked  cut  a  couple  of  guy- ropes,  and  the 
tent  began  to  sag.  "  It 's  not  morning,"  he  said. 
"It's  evening.  Come  on.  The  lake's  freezin'.  We 
got  to  get  acrost." 

Stine  sat  up,  his  face  bitter  and  wrathful.  "  Let  it 
freeze.  We  're  not  going  to  stir." 

"  All  right,"  said  Shorty.  "  We  're  goin'  on  with 
the  boat." 

"  You  were  engaged  — " 

"  To  take  your  outfit  to  Dawson,"  Shorty  caught 
him  up.  "Well,  we're  takin'  it,  ain't  we?"  He 
punctuated  his  query  by  bringing  half  the  tent  down 
on  top  of  them. 

They  broke  their  way  through  the  thin  ice  in  the 
little  harbor,  and  came  cut  on  the  lake,  where  the 
water,  heavy  and  glassy,  froze  on  their  oars  with 
every  stroke.  The  water  soon  became  like  mush, 
clogging  the  stroke  of  the  oars  and  freezing  in  the 
air  even  as  it  dripped.  Later  the  surface  began  to 
form  a  skin,  and  the  boat  proceeded  slower  and 
slower. 

Often  afterward,  when  Kit  tried  to  remember  that 
night  and  failed  to  bring  up  aught  but  nightmare  rec 
ollections,  he  wondered  what  must  have  been  the  suf 
ferings  of  Stine  and  Sprague.  His  one  impression 
of  himself  was  that  he  struggled  through  biting  frost 
and  intolerable  exertion  for  a  thousand  years,  more 
or  less. 

Morning  found  them  stationary.     Stine  complained 


THE  MEAT  63 

of  frosted  fingers,  and  Sprague  of  his  nose,  while  the 
pain  in  Kit's  cheeks  and  nose  told  him  that  he,  too, 
had  been  touched.  With  each  accretion  of  daylight 
they  could  see  farther,  and  as  far  as  they  could  see 
was  icy  surface.  The  water  of  the  lake  was  gone. 
A  hundred  yards  away  was  the  shore  of  the  north  end. 
Shorty  insisted  that  it  was  the  opening  of  the  river 
and  that  he  could  see  water.  He  and  Kit  alone  were 
able  to  work,  and  with  their  oars  they  broke  the  ice 
and  forced  the  boat  along.  And  at  the  last  gasp  of 
their  strength  they  made  the  suck  of  the  rapid  river. 
One  look  back  showed  them  several  boats  which  had 
fought  through  the  night  and  were  hopelessly  frozen 
in;  then  they  whirled  around  a  bend  in  a  current  run 
ning  six  miles  an  hour. 

Day  by  day  they  floated  down  the  swift  river,  and 
day  by  day  the  shore-ice  extended  farther  out.  When 
they  made  camp  at  nightfall,  they  chopped  a  space 
in  the  ice  in  which  to  lay  the  boat  and  carried  the 
camp  outfit  hundreds  of  feet  to  shore.  In  the  morn 
ing,  they  chopped  the  boat  out  through  the  new  ice 
and  caught  the  current.  Shorty  set  up  the  sheet-iron 
stove  in  the  boat,  and  over  this  Stine  and  Sprague 
hung  through  the  long  drifting  hours.  They  had 
surrendered,  no  longer  gave  orders,  and  their  one  de 
sire  was  to  gain  Dawson.  Shorty,  pessimistic,  in 
defatigable,  and  joyous,  at  frequent  intervals  roared 
out  the  three  lines  of  the  first  four-line  stanza  of  a 
song  he  had  forgotten.  The  colder  it  got  the  oftener 
he  sang: 


64  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"Like  Argus  of  the  ancient  times, 
We  leave  this  Modern  Greece, 
Turn-turn,   turn-turn,   turn-turn,   turn-turn, 
To  shear  the  Golden  Fleece." 

As  they  passed  the  mouths  of  the  Hootalinqua  and 
the  Big  and  Little  Salmon,  they  found  these  streams 
throwing  mush-ice  into  the  main  Yukon.  This  gath 
ered  about  the  boat  and  attached  itself,  and  at  night 
they  found  themselves  compelled  to  chop  the  boat  out 
of  the  current.  In  the  morning  they  chopped  the 
boat  back  into  the  current. 

The  last  night  ashore  was  spent  between  the  mouths 
of  the  White  River  and  the  Stewart.  At  daylight 
they  found  the  Yukon,  half  a  mile  wide,  running  white 
from  ice-rimmed  bank  to  ice-rimmed  bank.  Shorty 
cursed  the  universe  with  less  of  geniality  than  usual, 
and  looked  at  Kit. 

"  We  '11  be  the  last  boat  this  year  to  make  Dawson," 
Kit  said. 

"  But  they  ain't  no  water,  Smoke." 
"  Then  we  '11  ride  the  ice  down.  Come  on." 
Futilely  protesting,  Sprague  and  Stine  were  bun 
dled  on  board.  For  half  an  hour,  with  axes,  Kit  and 
Shorty  struggled  to  cut  a  way  into  the  swift  but  solid 
stream.  When  they  did  succeed  in  clearing  the  shore- 
ice,  the  floating  ice  forced  the  boat  along  the  edge  for 
a  hundred  yards,  tearing  away  half  of  one  gunwale 
and  making  a  partial  wreck  of  it.  Then,  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  bend,  they  caught  the  current  that  flung 
off-shore.  They  proceeded  to  work  farther  toward 


THE  MEAT  65 

the  middle.  The  stream  was  no  longer  composed  of 
mush-ice,  but  of  hard  cakes.  In  between  the  cakes 
only  was  mush-ice,  that  froze  solidly  as  they  looked 
at  it.  Shoving  with  the  oars  against  the  cakes,  some 
times  climbing  out  on  the  cakes  in  order  to  force  the 
boat  along,  after  an  hour  they  gained  the  middle. 
Five  minutes  after  they  ceased  their  exertions,  the 
boat  was  frozen  in.  The  whole  river  was  coagulating 
as  it  ran.  Cake  froze  to  cake,  until  at  last  the  boat 
was  the  center  of  a  cake  seventy-five  feet  in  diameter. 
Sometimes  they  floated  sidewise,  sometimes  stern-first, 
while  gravity  tore  asunder  the  forming  fetters  in  the 
moving  mass,  only  to  be  manacled  by  faster-forming 
ones.  While  the  hours  passed,  Shorty  stoked  the 
stove,  cooked  meals,  and  chanted  his  war-song. 

Night  came,  and  after  many  efforts  they  gave  up 
the  attempt  to  force  the  boat  to  shore,  and  through  the 
darkness  they  swept  helplessly  onward. 

"  What  if  we  pass  Dawson?  "  Shorty  queried. 

"  We  '11  walk  back,"  Kit  answered,  "  if  we  're  not 
crushed  in  a  jam." 

The  sky  was  clear,  and  in  the  light  of  the  cold, 
leaping  stars  they  caught  occasional  glimpses  of  the 
loom  of  mountains  on  either  hand.  At  eleven  o'clock, 
from  below,  came  a  dull  grinding  roar.  Their  speed 
began  to  diminish  and  cakes  of  ice  to  up-end  and 
crash  and  smash  about  them.  The  river  was  jam 
ming.  One  cake,  forced  upward,  slid  across  their 
cake  and  carried  one  side  of  the  boat  away.  It  did 
not  sink,  for  its  own  cake  still  upbore  it,  but  in  a  whirl 
they  saw  dark  water  show  for  an  instant  within  a  foot 


66  SMOKE  BELLEW 

of  them.  Then  all  movement  ceased.  At  the  end  of 
half  an  hour  the  whole  river  picked  itself  up  and  be 
gan  to  move.  This  continued  for  an  hour,  when  again 
it  was  brought  to  rest  by  a  jam.  Once  again  it 
started,  running  swiftly  and  savagely,  with  a  great 
grinding.  Then  they  saw  lights  ashore,  and,  when 
abreast,  gravity  and  the  Yukon  surrendered,  and  the 
river  ceased  for  six  months. 

On  the  shore  at  Dawson,  curious  ones  gathered  to 
watch  the  river  freeze  heard  from  out  of.the  darkness 
the  war-song  of  Shorty: 

"Like  Argus  of  the  ancient  times, 
We  leave  this  Modern  Greece, 
Turn-turn,  turn-turn,   turn-turn,   turn-turn, 
To  shear  the  Golden  Fleece." 

For  three  days  Kit  and  Shorty  labored,  carrying 
the  ton  and  a  half  of  outfit  from  the  middle  of  the 
river  to  the  log-cabin  Stine  and  Sprague  had  bought 
on  the  hill  overlooking  Dawson.  This  work  finished, 
in  the  warm  cabin,  as  twilight  was  falling, 
Sprague  motioned  Kit  to  him.  Outside  the  ther 
mometer  registered  sixty-five  below  zero. 

"  Your  full  month  is  n't  up,  Smoke,"  Sprague  said. 
"  But  here  it  is  in  full.  I  wish  you  luck/' 

"How  about  the  agreement?"  Kit  asked.  "You 
know  there  's  a  famine  here.  A  man  can't  get  work 
in  the  mines  even  unless  he  has  his  own  grub.  You 
agreed  — " 

"  I  know  of  no  agreement,"  Sprague  interrupted. 
"Do  you,  Stine?  We  engaged  you  by  the  month. 


THE  MEAT  67 

There's    your    pay.     Will    you    sign    the    receipt?" 

Kit's  hands  clenched,  and  for  the  moment  he 
saw  red.  Both  men  shrank  away  from  him. 
He  had  never  struck  a  man  in  anger  in  his  life, 
and  he  felt  so  certain  of  his  ability  to  thrash  Sprague 
that  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  do  it. 

Shorty  saw  his  trouble  and  interposed. 

"  Look  here,  Smoke,  I  ain't  travelin'  no  more  with 
a  ornery  outfit  like  this.  Right  here  's  where  I  sure 
jump  it.  You  an'  me  stick  together.  Savvy?  Now 
you  take  your  blankets  an'  hike  down  to  the  Elkhorn. 
Wait  for  me.  I  '11  settle  up,  collect  what 's  comin', 
an'  give  them  what 's  comin'.  I  ain't  no  good  on  the 
water,  but  my  feet 's  on  terry-firmy  now,  an'  I  'm  go- 
in'  to  make  smoke." 

Half  an  hour  afterward  Shorty  appeared  at  the 
Elkhorn.  From  his  bleeding  knuckles  and  the  skin 
off  one  cheek,  it  was  evident  that  he  had  given  Stine 
and  Sprague  what  was  coming. 

"  You  ought  to  see  that  cabin,"  he  chuckled,  as  they 
stood  at  the  bar.  "  Rough-house  ain't  no  name  for 
it.  Dollars  to  doughnuts  nary  one  of  'em  shows  up 
on  the  street  for  a  week.  An'  now  it 's  all  figgered 
out  for  you  an'  me.  Grub's  a  dollar  an'  a  half  a 
pound.  They  ain't  no  work  for  wages  without  you 
have  your  own  grub.  Moose-meat 's  sellin'  for  two 
dollars  a  pound,  an'  they  ain't  none.  We  got  enough 
money  for  a  month's  grub  an'  ammunition,  an'  we 
hike  up  the  Klondike  to  the  back  country.  If  they 
ain't  no  moose,  we  go  an'  live  with  the  Indians.  But 
if  we  ain't  got  five  thousand  pounds  of  meat  six  weeks 


68  SMOKE  BELLEW 

from  now,  I  '11  sure  go  back  an'  apologize  to  our 
bosses.  Is  it  a  go?  " 

Kit's  hand  went  out,  and  they  shook.  Then  he  fal 
tered.  "  I  don't  know  anything  about  hunting,"  he 
said. 

Shorty  lifted  his  glass.  "  But  you  're  a  sure  meat- 
eater,  an'  I  '11  learn  you." 


Ill 

THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CRE2K 

months  after  Smoke  Bellew  and  Shorty 
went  after  moose  for  a  grub-stake,  they  were 
back  in  the  Elkhorn  saloon  at  Dawson.  The  hunting 
was  done,  the  meat  hauled  in  and  sold  for  two  dollars 
and  a  half  a  pound,  and  between  them  they  possessed 
three  thousand  dollars  in  gold  dust  and  a  good  team 
of  dogs.  They  had  played  in  luck.  Despite  the  fact 
that  the  gold-rush  had  driven  the  game  a  hundred 
miles  or  more  into  the  mountains,  they  had  within  half 
that  distance  bagged  four  moose  in  a  narrow  canyon. 

The  mystery  of  the  strayed  animals  was  no  greater 
than  the  luck  of  their  killers,  for  within  the  day  four 
famished  Indian  families,  reporting  no  game  in  three 
days'  journey  back,  camped  beside  them.  Meat  was 
traded  for  starving  dogs,  and  after  a  week  of  feeding 
Smoke  and  Shorty  harnessed  the  animals  and 
began  freighting  the  meat  to  the  eager  Dawson 
market. 

The  problem  of  the  two  men  now  was  to  turn  their 
gold-dust  into  food.  The  current  price  for  flour  and 
beans  was  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  pound,  but  the  diffi 
culty  was  to  find  a  seller.  Dawson  was  in  the  throes 
of  famine.  Hundreds  of  men,  with  money  but  no 
food,  had  been  compelled  to  leave  the  country.  Many 

69 


70  SMOKE  BELLEW 

had  gone  down  the  river  on  the  last  water,  and  many 
more,  with  barely  enough  food  to  last,  had  walked 
the  six  hundred  miles  over  the  ice  to  Dyea. 

Smoke  met  Shorty  in  the  warm  saloon,  and  found 
the  latter  jubilant. 

"  Life  ain't  no  punkins  without  whiskey  an'  sweet- 
enin',"  was  Shorty's  greeting,  as  he  pulled  lumps  of 
ice  from  his  thawing  mustache  and  flung  them  rat 
tling  onto  the  floor.  "  An'  I  sure  just  got  eighteen 
pounds  of  that  same  sweetenin'.  The  geezer  only 
charged  three  dollars  a  pound  for  it.  What  luck  did 
you  have?" 

"  I,  too,  have  not  been  idle,"  Smoke  answered  with 
pride.  "  I  bought  fifty  pounds  of  flour.  And 
there  's  a  man  up  on  Adam  Creek  who  says  he  '11  let 
me  have  fifty  pounds  more  to-morrow." 

"  Great !  We  '11  sure  live  till  the  river  opens. 
Say,  Smoke,  them  dogs  of  ourn  is  the  goods.  A  dog- 
buyer  offered  me  two  hundred  apiece  for  the  five  of 
them.  I  told  him  nothin'  doin'.  They  sure  took  on 
class  when  they  got  meat  to  get  outside  of;  but  it 
goes  against  the  grain,  feedin'  dog-critters  on  grub 
that 's  worth  two  an'  a  half  a  pound.  Come  on  an' 
have  a  drink.  I  just  got  to  celebrate  them  eighteen 
pounds  of  sweetenin'." 

Several  minutes  later,  as  he  weighed  in  on  the  gold- 
scales  for  the  drinks,  he  gave  a  start  of  recollec 
tion. 

"  I  plumb  forgot  that  man  I  was  to  meet  in  the 
Tivoli.  He  's  got  some  spoiled  bacon  he  '11  sell  for  a 
dollar  an'  a  half  a  pound.  We  can  feed  it  to  the  dogs 


THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK      71 

an'  save  a  dollar  a  day  on  each's  board-bill.     So- 
long." 

"  So-long,"  said  Smoke.  "  I  'm  goin'  to  the  cabin 
an5  turn  in." 

Hardly  had  Shorty  left  the  place,  when  a  fur-clad 
man  entered  through  the  double  storm-doors.  His 
face  lighted  at  sight  of  Smoke,  who  recognized  him 
as  Breck,  the  man  whose  boat  they  had  run  through 
the  Box  Canyon  and  the  White  Horse  Rapids. 

"  I  heard  you  were  in  town,"  Breck  said  hurriedly, 
as  they  shook  hands.  "  Been  looking  for  you  for 
half  an  hour.  Come  outside,  I  want  to  talk  with 
you." 

Smoke  looked  regretfully  at  the  roaring,  red-hot 
stove.  "  Won't  this  do?  " 

"No;  it's  important.     Come  outside." 

As  they  emerged,  Smoke  drew  off  one  mitten, 
lighted  a  match,  and  glanced  at  the  thermometer  that 
hung  beside  the  door.  He  remittened  his  naked  hand 
hastily,  as  if  the  frost  had  burned  him.  Overhead 
arched  the  flaming  aurora  borealis,  while  from  all 
Dawson  arose  the  mournful  howling  of  thousands  of 
wolf-dogs. 

"What  did  it  say?"  Breck  asked. 

"  Sixty  below."  Kit  spat  experimentally,  and  the 
spittle  crackled  in  the  air.  "  And  the  thermometer  is 
certainly  working.  It 's  falling  all  the  time.  An 
hour  ago  it  was  only  fifty-two.  Don't  tell  me  it 's  a 
stampede." 

"  It  is,"  Breck  whispered  back  cautiously,  casting 
anxious  eyes  about  in  fear  of  some  other  listener. 


72  SMOKE  BELLEW 

'  You  know  Squaw  Creek  empties  in  on  the  other  side 
the  Yukon  thirty  miles  up  ?  " 

"  Nothing  doing  there,"  was  Smoke's  judgment. 
"  It  was  prospected  years  ago." 

"  So  were  all  the  other  rich  creeks.  Listen !  It 's 
big.  Only  eight  to  twenty  feet  to  bed-rock.  There 
won't  be  a  claim  that  don't  run  to  half  a  million. 
It 's  a  dead  secret.  Two  or  three  of  my  close  friends 
let  me  in  on  it.  I  told  my  wife  right  away  that  I  was 
going  to  find  you  before  I  started.  Now  so-long. 
My  pack 's  hidden  down  the  bank.  In  fact,  when 
they  told  me  they  made  me  promise  not  to  pull  out 
until  Dawson  was  asleep.  You  know  what  it  means 
if  you  're  seen  with  a  stampeding  outfit.  Get  your 
partner  and  follow.  You  ought  to  stake  fourth  or 
fifth  claim  from  Discovery.  Don't  forget  —  Squaw 
Creek.  It 's  the  third  after  you  pass  Swede  Creek." 

When  Smoke  entered  the  little  cabin  on  the  hillside 
back  of  Dawson,  he  heard  a  heavy  familiar  breathing. 

"  Ah,  go  to  bed,"  Shorty  mumbled,  as  Smoke  shook 
his  shoulder.  "  I  'm  not  on  the  night  shift,"  was  his 
next  remark,  as  the  rousing  hand  became  more  vig 
orous.  "  Tell  your  troubles  to  the  barkeeper." 

"  Kick  into  your  clothes,"  Smoke  said.  "  We  Ve 
got  to  stake  a  couple  of  claims." 

Shorty  sat  up  and  started  to  explode,  but  Smoke's 
hand  covered  his  mouth. 

"  Ssh !  "  Smoke  warned.  "  It 's  a  big  strike. 
Don't  wake  the  neighborhood.  Dawson  's  asleep." 

"  Huh !  You  got  to  show  me.  Nobody  tells  any 
body  about  a  strike,  of  course  not.  But  ain't  it  plumb 


THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK      73 

amazin'  the  way  everybody  hits  the  trail  just  the 
same?" 

"  Squaw  Creek,"  Smoke  whispered.  "  It 's  right. 
Breck  gave  me  the  tip.  Shallow  bed-rock.  Gold 
from  the  grass-roots  down.  Come  on.  We  '11  sling 
a  couple  of  light  packs  together  and  pull  out." 

Shorty's  eyes  closed  as  he  lapsed  back  into 
sleep.  The  next  moment  his  blankets  were  swept  off 
him. 

"  If  you  don't  want  them,  I  do,"  Smoke  explained. 

Shorty  followed  the  blankets  and  began  to  dress. 
"  Coin'  to  take  the  dogs?  "  he  asked. 

"  No.  The  trail  up  the  creek  is  sure  to  be  un 
broken,  and  we  can  make  better  time  without  them." 

"  Then  I  Jll  throw  'em  a  meal  which  '11  have  to  last 
'em  till  we  get  back.  Be  sure  you  take  some  birch- 
bark  and  a  candle." 

Shorty  opened  the  door,  felt  the  bite  of  the  cold, 
and  shrank  back  to  pull  down  his  ear-flaps  and  mitten 
his  hands.  Five  minutes  later  he  returned,  sharply 
rubbing  his  nose.  "  Smoke,  I  'm  sure  opposed  to 
makin'  this  stampede.  It 's  colder  than  the  hinges  of 
hell  a  thousand  years  before  the  first  fire  was  lighted. 
Besides,  it 's  Friday  the  thirteenth,  an'  we  're  goin'  to 
trouble  as  the  sparks  fly  upward." 

With  small  stampeding-packs  on  their  backs,  they 
closed  the  door  behind  them  and  started  down  the  hill. 
The  display  of  the  aurora  borealis  had  ceased,  and  only 
the  stars  leaped  in  the  great  cold  and  by  their  uncer 
tain  light  made  traps  for  the  feet.  Shorty  floundered 
off  a  turn  of  the  trail  into  deep  snow,  and  raised  his 


74  SMOKE  BELLEW 

voice  in  blessing  of  the  date  of  the  week  and  month 
and  year. 

"Can't  you  keep  still?"  Smoke  chided.  "Leave 
the  almanac  alone.  You  '11  have  all  Dawson  awake 
and  after  us." 

"  Huh!  See  the  light  in  that  cabin?  An'  in  that 
one  over  there?  An'  hear  that  door  slam?  Oh,  sure 
Dawson  's  asleep.  Them  lights  ?  Just  buryin'  their 
dead.  They  ain't  stampedin',  betcher  life  they  ain't." 

By  the  time  they  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill  and 
were  fairly  in  Dawson,  lights  were  springing  up  in 
the  cabins,  doors  were  slamming,  and  from  behind 
came  the  sound  of  many  moccasins  on  the  hard- 
packed  snow.  Again  Shorty  delivered  himself. 

"  But  it  beats  the  devil  the  amount  of  mourners 
they  is." 

They  passed  a  man  who  stood  by  the  path  and  was 
calling  anxiously  in  a  low  voice,  "  Oh,  Charley ;  get 


a  move  on." 


"  See  that  pack  on  his  back,  Smoke?  The  grave 
yard  's  sure  a  long  ways  off  when  the  mourners  got 
to  pack  their  blankets." 

By  the  time  they  reached  the  main  street  a  hundred 
men  were  in  line  behind  them,  and  while  they  sought 
in  the  deceptive  starlight  for  the  trail  that  dipped 
down  the  bank  to  the  river,  more  men  could  be  heard 
arriving.  Shorty  slipped  and  shot  down  the  thirty- 
foot  chute  into  the  soft  snow.  Smoke  followed, 
knocking  him  over  as  he  was  rising  to  his  feet. 

"  I  found  it  first,"  he  gurgled,  taking  off  his  mittens 
to  shake  the  snow  out  of  the  gauntlets. 


THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK      75 

The  next  moment  they  were  scrambling  wildly  out 
of  the  way  of  the  hurtling  bodies  of  those  that  fol 
lowed.  At  the  time  of  the  freeze-up,  a  jam  had  oc 
curred  at  this  point,  and  cakes  of  ice  were  up-ended 
in  snow-covered  confusion.  After  several  hard  falls, 
Smoke  drew  out  his  candle  and  lighted  it.  Those  in 
the  rear  hailed  it  with  acclaim.  In  the  windless  air 
it  burned  easily,  and  he  led  the  way  more  quickly. 

"  It 's  a  sure  stampede,"  Shorty  decided.  "  Or 
might  all  them  be  sleep-walkers?" 

"  We  're  at  the  head  of  the  procession  at  any  rate," 
was  Smoke's  answer. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Mebbe  that 's  a  firefly  ahead 
there.  Mebbe  they  're  all  fireflies  —  that  one,  an'  that 
one.  Look  at  'em !  Believe  me,  they  is  a  whole  string 
of  processions  ahead." 

It  was  a  mile  across  the  jams  to  the  west  bank  of 
the  Yukon,  and  candles  flickered  the  full  length  of  the 
twisting  trail.  Behind  them,  clear  to  the  top  of  the 
bank  they  had  descended,  were  more  candles. 

"  Say,  Smoke,  this  ain't  no  stampede.  It 's  a 
exode-us.  They  must  be  a  thousand  men  ahead  of 
us  an'  ten  thousand  behind.  Now  you  listen  to  your 
uncle.  My  medicine's  good.  When  I  get  a  hunch 
it 's  sure  right.  An'  we  're  in  wrong  on  this  stam 
pede.  Let 's  turn  back  an'  hit  the  sleep." 

"  You  'd  better  save  your  breath  if  you  intend  to 
keep  up,"  Smoke  retorted  gruffly. 

"  Huh !  My  legs  is  short,  but  I  slog  along  slack 
at  the  knees  an'  don't  worry  my  muscles  none,  an'  I 
can  sure  walk  every  piker  here  off  the  ice." 


76  SMOKE  BELLEW 

And  Smoke  knew  he  was  right,  for  he  had  long 
since  learned  his  comrade's  phenomenal  walking  pow 
ers. 

"  I  Ve  been  holding  back  to  give  you  a  chance," 
Smoke  jeered. 

"  An'  I  'm  plumb  troddin'  on  your  heels.  If  you 
can't  do  better,  let  me  go  ahead  and  set  pace." 

Smoke  quickened,  and  was  soon  at  the  rear  of  the 
nearest  bunch  of  stampeders. 

"  Hike  along,  you,  Smoke,"  the  other  urged. 
:<  Walk  over  them  unburied  dead.  This  ain't  no  fu 
neral.  Hit  the  frost  like  you  was  goin'  somewheres." 

Smoke  counted  eight  men  and  two  women  in  this 
party,  and  before  the  way  across  the  jam-ice  was  won, 
he  and  Shorty  had  passed  another  party  twenty 
strong.  Within  a  few  feet  of  the  west  bank,  the  trail 
swerved  to  the  south,  emerging  from  the  jam  upon 
smooth  ice.  The  ice,  however,  was  buried  under  sev 
eral  feet  of  fine  snow.  Through  this  the  sled-trail 
ran,  a  narrow  ribbon  of  packed  footing  barely  two 
feet  in  width.  On  either  side  one  sank  to  his  knees 
and  deeper  in  the  snow.  The  stampeders  they  over 
took  were  reluctant  to  give  way,  and  often  Smoke 
and  Shorty  had  to  plunge  into  the  deep  snow  and  by 
supreme  efforts  flounder  past. 

Shorty  was  irrepressible  and  pessimistic.  When  the 
stampeders  resented  being  passed,  he  retorted  in  kind. 

"What's  your  hurry?"  one  of  them  asked. 

"  What 's  yours  ?  "  he  answered.  "  A  stampede 
come  down  from  Indian  River  yesterday  afternoon 
an'  beat  you  to  it.  They  ain't  no  claims  left." 


THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK      77 

"That  being  so,  I  repeat,  what's  your  hurry?" 

"Who?  Me?  I  ain't  no  stampeder.  I'm 
workin'  for  the  government.  I  'm  on  official  business. 
I  'm  just  trapesin'  along  to  take  the  census  of  Squaw 
Creek." 

To  another,  who  hailed  him  with :  "  Where  away, 
little  one?  Do  you  really  expect  to  stake  a  claim?" 
Shorty  answered: 

"Me?  I  'm  the  discoverer  of  Squaw  Creek.  I  'm 
just  comin'  back  from  recordin'  so  as  to  see  no 
blamed  chekako  jumps  my  claim." 

The  average  pace  of  the  stampeders  on  the  smooth 
going  was  three  miles  and  a  half  an  hour.  Smoke 
and  Shorty  were  doing  four  and  a  half,  though  some 
times  they  broke  into  short  runs  and  went  faster. 

"  I  'm  going  to  travel  your  feet  clean  off,  Shorty," 
Smoke  challenged. 

"  Huh !  I  can  hike  along  on  the  stumps  an'  wear 
the  heels  off  your  moccasins.  Though  it  ain't  no  use. 
I  've  been  figgerin'.  Creek  claims  is  five  hundred  feet. 
Call  'em  ten  to  the  mile.  They  's  a  thousand  stam 
peders  ahead  of  us,  an'  that  creek  ain't  no  hundred 
miles  long.  Somebody 's  goin'  to  get  left,  an'  it 
makes  a  noise  like  you  an'  me." 

Before  replying,  Smoke  let  out  an  unexpected  link 
that  threw  Shorty  half  a  dozen  feet  in  the  rear.  "  If 
you  saved  your  breath  and  kept  up,  we  'd  cut  down 
a  few  of  that  thousand,"  he  chided. 

"Who?  Me?  If  you'd  get  outa  the  way  I'd 
show  you  a  pace  what  is." 

Smoke  laughed,  and  let  out  another  link.     "  Shorty, 


78  SMOKE  BELLEW 

I  've  got  you  skinned  to  death.  I  've  reconstructed 
every  cell  in  my  body  since  I  hit  the  beach  at  Dyea. 
-My  flesh  is  as  stringy  as  whipcords,  and  as  bitter  and 
mean  as  the  bite  of  a  rattlesnake.  A  few  months 
ago  I  'd  have  patted  niyself  on  the  back  to  \vrite  such 
words,  but  I  could  n't  have  written  them.  I  had  to 
live  them  first,  and  now  that  I  'm  living  them  there  's 
no  need  to  write  them.  I  'm  the  real,  bitter,  stinging 
goods,  and  no  scrub  of  a  mountaineer  can  put  any 
thing  over  on  me  without  getting  it  back  compound. 
Now  you  go  ahead  and  set  pace  for  half  an  hour. 
Do  your  worst,  and  when  you  're  all  in  I  '11  go  ahead 
and  give  you  half  an  hour  of  the  real  worst." 

"  Huh !  "  Shorty  sneered  genially.  "  An'  him  not 
dry  behind  the  ears  yet.  Get  outa  the  way  an'  let 
your  father  show  you  some  goin'." 

Half -hour  by  half -hour  they  alternated  in  setting 
pace.  Nor  did  they  talk  much.  Their  exertions  kept 
them  warm,  though  their  breath  froze  on  their  faces 
from  lips  to  chin.  So  intense  was  the  cold  that  they 
almost  continually  rubbed  their  noses  and  cheeks  with 
their  mittens.  A  few  minutes'  cessation  from  this  al 
lowed  the  flesh  to  grow  numb,  and  then  most  vigorous 
rubbing  was  required  to  produce  the  burning  prickle 
of  returning  circulation. 

Often  they  thought  they  had  reached  the  lead,  but 
always  they  overtook  more  stampeders  who  had  started 
before  them.  Occasionally  groups  of  men  attempted 
to  swing  in  behind  to  their  pace,  but  invariably  they 
'were  discouraged  after  a  mile  or  two  and  disappeared 
in  the  darkness  to  the  rear. 


THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK      79 

"  We  've  been  out  on  trail  all  winter,"  was  Shorty's 
comment.  "  An'  them  geezers,  soft  from  layin' 
around  their  cabins,  has  the  nerve  to  think  they  can 
keep  our  stride.  Now  if  they  was  real  sour-doughs 
it  'd  be  different.  If  they  's  one  thing  a  sour-dough 
can  do  it 's  sure  walk." 

Once,  Smoke  lighted  a  match  and  glanced  at  his 
watch.  He  never  repeated  it,  for  so  quick  was 
the  bite  of  the  frost  on  his  bared  hands  that  half  an 
hour  passed  before  they  were  again  comfortable. 

"  Four  o'clock,"  he  said,  as  he  pulled  on  his  mit 
tens,  "  and  we  've  already  passed  three  hundred." 

"  Three  hundred  and  thirty-eight,"  Shorty  cor 
rected.  "  I  been  keepin'  count.  Get  outa  the  way, 
stranger.  Let  somebody  stampede  that  knows  how 
to  stampede." 

This  latter  was  addressed  to  a  man,  evidently  ex 
hausted,  who  could  no  more  than  stumble  along  and 
who  blocked  the  trail.  This,  and  one  other,  were  the 
only  played-out  men  they  encountered,  for  they  were 
very  near  to  the  head  of  the  stampede.  Nor  did  they 
learn  till  afterward  the  horrors  of  that  night.  Ex 
hausted  men  sat  down  to  rest  by  the  way  and  failed 
to  get  up  again.  Seven  were  frozen  to  death,  while 
scores  of  amputations  of  toes,  feet  and  fingers  were 
performed  in  the  Dawson  hospitals  on  the  survivors. 
For  the  stampede  to  Squaw  Creek  occurred  on  the 
coldest  night  of  the  year.  Before  morning  the  spirit 
thermometers  at  Dawson  registered  seventy  degrees 
below  zero. 

The  other  played-out  man  they  found  a  few  min- 


8o  SMOKE  BELLEW 

utes  later,  sitting  on  a  piece  of  ice  beside  the  trail. 

"  Hop  along,  sister  Mary,"  Shorty  gaily  greeted 
him.  "  Keep  movin'.  If  you  sit  there  you  '11  freeze 
stiff." 

The  man  made  no  response,  and  they  stopped  to  in 
vestigate. 

"  Stiff  as  a  poker,"  was  Shorty's  verdict.  "  If  you 
tumbled  him  over  he  'd  break." 

"  See  if  he  's  breathing,"  Smoke  said,  as,  with  bared 
hand,  he  sought  through  furs  and  woolens  for  the 
man's  heart. 

Shorty  lifted  one  ear-flap  and  bent  to  the  iced  lips. 
"  Nary  breathe,"  he  reported. 

"  Nor  heart-beat,"  said  Smoke. 

He  mittened  his  hand  and  beat  it  violently  for  a 
minute  before  exposing  it  to  the  frost  to  strike  a 
match.  It  was  an  old  man,  incontestably  dead.  In 
the  moment  of  illumination  they  saw  a  long  gray 
beard,  massed  with  ice  to  the  nose,  cheeks  that  were 
white  with  frost,  and  closed  eyes  with  frost-rimmed 
lashes  frozen  together.  Then  the  match  went  out. 

"  Come  on,"  Shorty  said,  rubbing  his  ear.  "  We 
can't  do  nothin'  for  the  old  geezer.  An'  I  've  sure 
frosted  my  ear.  Now  all  the  blamed  skin  '11  peel  off, 
and  it  '11  be  sore  for  a  week." 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  a  flaming  ribbon  spilled 
pulsating  fire  over  the  heavens,  they  saw  on  the  ice  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  ahead  two  forms.  Beyond,  for  a 
mile,  nothing  moved. 

"  They  're  leading  the  procession,"  Smoke  said,  as 
darkness  fell  again.  "  Come  on,  let 's  get  them." 


THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK      81 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  not  yet  having  over 
taken  the  two  in  front,  Shorty  broke  into  a  run.  "If 
we  catch  'em  we  '11  never  pass  'em,"  he  panted. 
"  Lord,  what  a  pace  they  're  hittin'.  Dollars  to  dough 
nuts  they  're  no  chekakos.  They  're  the  real  sour 
dough  variety,  you  can  stack  on  that." 

Smoke  was  leading  when  they  finally  caught  up, 
and  he  was  glad  to  ease  to  a  walk  at  their  heels.  Al 
most  immediately  he  got  the  impression  that  the  one 
nearer  him  was  a  woman.  How  this  impression 
came,  he  could  not  tell.  Hooded  and  furred,  the  dark 
form  was  as  any  form;  yet  there  was  a  haunting 
sense  of  familiarity  about  it.  He  waited  for  the  next 
flame  of  the  aurora,  and  by  its  light  saw  the  small- 
ness  of  the  moccasined  feet.  But  he  saw  more  — 
the  walk,  and  knew  it  for  the  unmistakable  wralk  he 
had  once  resolved  never  to  forget. 

"  She 's  a  sure  goer,"  Shorty  confided  hoarsely. 
"  I  '11  bet  it 's  an  Indian." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Gastell?  "  Smoke  addressed 
her. 

"  How  do  you  do?  "  she  answered,  with  a  turn  of 
the  head  and  a  quick  glance.  "  It 's  too  dark  to  see. 
Who  are  you?" 

"  Smoke." 

She  laughed  in  the  frost,  and  he  was  certain  it  was 
the  prettiest  laughter  he  had  ever  heard.  "  And  have 
you  married  and  raised  all  those  children  you  were 
telling  me  about  ?  "  Before  he  could  retort,  she  went 
on,  "  How  many  chekakos  are  there  behind  ?  " 

"  Several  thousand,  I  imagine.      We  passed  over 


82  SMOKE  BELLEW 

three  hundred.     And  they  were  n't  wasting  any  time." 

"  It 's  the  old  story,"  she  said  bitterly.  "  The  new 
comers  get  in  on  the  rich  creeks,  and  the  old-timers, 
who  dared  and  suffered fand^made  this  country,  get 
nothing.  Old-tinraa^naaqe^is  discovery  on  Squaw 
Creek  —  how  it  leak^crout  is  the  mystery  —  and  they 
sent  word  up  to  all  the  old-timers  on  Sea  Lion.  But 
it 's  ten  miles  farther  than  Dawson,  and  when  they 
arrive  they  '11  find  the  creek  staked  to  the  sky-line  by 
the  Dawson  chekakos.  It  is  n't  right,  it  is  n't  fair, 
such  perversity  of  luck." 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  Smoke  sympathized.  "  But  I  'm 
hanged  if  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  do  about  it. 
First  come,  first  served,  you  know." 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  something,"  she  flashed  back 
at  him.  "  I  'd  like  to  see  them  all  freeze  on  the  trail, 
or  have  everything  terrible  happen  to  them,  so  long 
as  the  Sea  Lion  stampede  arrived  first." 

'  You  Ve  certainly  got  it  in  for  us  hard,"  he 
laughed. 

"  It  is  n't  that,"  she  said  quickly.  "  Man  by  man, 
I  know  the  crowd  from  Sea  Lion,  and  they  are  men. 
They  starved  in  this  country  in  the  old  days,  and  they 
worked  like  giants  to  develop  it.  They  are  heroes, 
and  they  deserve  some  reward,  and  yet  here  are  thou 
sands  of  green  softlings,  who  have  n't  earned  the  right 
to  stake  anything,  miles  and  miles  ahead  of  them. 
And  now,  if  you  '11  forgive  my  tirade,  I  '11  save  my 
breath,  for  I  don't  know  when  you  and  all  the  rest 
may  try  to  pass  dad  and  me." 

No  further  talk  passed  between  Joy  and   Smoke 


THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK      83 

for  an  hour  or  so,  though  he  noticed  that  for  a  time 
she  and  her  father  talked  in  low  tones. 

"  I  know  'em  now,"  Shorty  told  Smoke.  "  He  's 
old  Louis  Gastell,  an'  the  real  goods.  That  must  be 
his  kid.  He  come  into  this  country  so  long  ago  they 
ain't  nobody  can  recollect,  an'  he  brought  the  girl 
with  him,  she  only  a  baby.  Him  an'  Beetles  was 
tradin'  partners,  an'  they  ran  the  first  dinky  little 
steamboat  up  the  Koyukuk." 

"  I  don't  think  we  '11  try  to  pass  them,"  Smoke 
said.  "  We  're  at  the  head  of  the  stampede,  and  there 
are  only  four  of  us." 

Shorty  agreed,  and  another  hour  of  silence  fol 
lowed,  during  which  they  swung  steadily  along.  At 
seven  o'clock,  the  blackness  was  broken  by  a  last  dis 
play  of  the  aurora  borealis,  which  showed  to  the  west 
a  broad  opening  between  snow-clad  mountains. 

"  Squaw  Creek !  "  Joy  exclaimed. 

"  Coin'  some,"  Shorty  exulted.  "  We  ought  n't  to 
been  there  for  another  half  hour  to  the  least,  accordin' 
to  my  reckonin'.  I  must  'a'  been  spreadin'  my 
legs." 

It  was  at  this  point  that  the  Dyea  trail,  baffled  by 
ice-jams,  swerved  abruptly  across  the  Yukon  to  the 
east  bank.  And  here  they  must  leave  the  hard- 
packed,  main-traveled  trail,  mount  the  jams,  and  fol 
low  a  dim  trail,  but  slightly  packed,  that  hovered  the 
west  bank. 

Louis  Gastell,  leading,  slipped  in  the  darkness  on 
the  rough  ice,  and  sat  up,  holding  his  ankle  in  both 
his  hands.  He  struggled  to  his  feet  and  went  on, 


84  SMOKE  BELLEW 

but  at  a  slower  pace  and  with  a  perceptible  limp. 
After  a  few  minutes  he  abruptly  halted. 

"  It 's  no  use/'  he  said  to  his  daughter.  "  I  've 
sprained  a  tendon.  You  go  ahead  and  stake  for  me 
as  well  as  yourself." 

"  Can't  we  do  something?"  Smoke  asked  solicit 
ously. 

Louis  Gastell  shook  his  head.  "  She  can  stake  two 
claims  as  well  as  one.  I  '11  crawl  over  to  the  bank, 
start  a  fire,  and  bandage  my  ankle.  I  '11  be  all  right. 
Go  on,  Joy.  Stake  ours  above  the  discovery  claim; 
it 's  richer  higher  up." 

"  Here 's  some  birch-bark,"  Smoke  said,  dividing 
his  supply  equally.  "  We  '11  take  care  of  your  daugh 
ter." 

Louis  Gastell  laughed  harshly.  'l  Thank  you  just 
the  same,"  he  said,  "  but  she  can  take  care  of  herself. 
Follow  her  and  watch  her." 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  lead  ?  "  she  asked  Smoke,  as 
she  headed  on.  "  I  know  this  country  better  than 
you." 

"  Lead  on,"  Smoke  answered  gallantly,  "  though 
I  agree  with  you  it 's  a  darn  shame  all  us  chekakos 
are  going  to  beat  that  Sea  Lion  bunch  to  it.  Is  n't 
there  some  way  to  shake  them  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  We  can't  hide  our  trail, 
and  they  '11  follow  it  like  sheep." 

After  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  she  turned  sharply 
to  the  west.  Smoke  noticed  that  they  were  going 
through  unpacked  snow,  but  neither  he  nor  Shorty 
observed  that  the  dim  trail  they  had  been  on  still  led 


THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK      85 

south.  Had  they  witnessed  the  subsequent  procedure 
of  Louis  Gastell,  the  history  of  the  Klondike  would 
have  been  written  differently;  for  they  would  have 
seen  that  old-timer,  no  longer  limping,  running  with 
his  nose  to  the  trail  like  a  hound,  following  them. 
Also,  they  would  have  seen  him  trample  and  widen 
the  turn  to  the  fresh  trail  they  had  made  to  the  west. 
And,  finally,  they  would  have  seen  him  keep  on  the 
old  dim  trail  that  still  led  south. 

A  trail  did  run  up  the  creek,  but  so  slight  was  it 
that  they  continually  lost  it  in  the  darkness.  After 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Joy  Gastell  was  willing  to  drop 
to  the  rear  and  let  the  two  men  take  turns  in  break 
ing  a  way  through  the  snow.  This  slowness  of  the 
leaders  enabled  the  whole  stampede  to  catch  up,  and 
when  daylight  came,  at  nine  o'clock,  as  far  back  as 
they  could  see  was  an  unbroken  line  of  men.  Joy's 
dark  eyes  sparkled  at  the  sight. 

"  How  long  since  we  started  up  the  creek  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Fully  two  hours,"  Smoke  answered. 

"  And  two  hours  back  make  four,"  she  laughed. 
"  The  stampede  from  Sea  Lion  is  saved." 

A  faint  suspicion  crossed  Smoke's  mind  and  he 
stopped  and  confronted  her.  "  I  don't  understand," 
he  said. 

"You  don't?  Then  I'll  tell  you.  This  is  Nor 
way  Creek.  Squaw  Creek  is  the  next  to  the 
south." 

Smoke  was  for  the  moment  speechless. 

"You  did  it  a  purpose?"  Shorty  demanded. 


86  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  I  did  it  to  give  the  old-timers  a  chance."  She 
laughed  mockingly.  The  men  grinned  at  each  other 
and  finally  joined  her.  "  I  'd  lay  you  across  my  knee 
an'  give  you  a  wallopin',  if  women  folk  was  n't  so 
scarce  in  this  country,"  Shorty  assured  her. 

"  Your  father  did  n't  sprain  a  tendon,  but  waited 
till  we  were  out  of  sight  and  then  went  on  ?  "  Smoke 
asked. 

She  nodded. 

"  And  you  were  the  decoy?  " 

Again  she  nodded,  and  this  time  Smoke's  laughter 
rang  out  clear  and  true.  It  was  the  spontaneous 
laughter  of  a  frankly  beaten  man. 

"  Why  don't  you  get  angry  with  me?  "  she  queried 
ruefully.  "  Or  —  or  wallop  me?  " 

"  Well,  we  might  as  well  be  startin'  back,"  Shorty 
urged.  "  My  feet 's  gettin'  cold  standin'  here." 

Smoke  shook  his  head.  '  That  would  mean  four 
hours  lost.  We  must  be  eight  miles  up  this  creek 
now,  and  from  the  look  ahead  Norway  is  making  a 
long  swing  south.  We  '11  follow  it,  then  cross  over 
the  divide  somehow,  and  tap  Squaw  Creek  somewhere 
above  Discovery."  He  looked  at  Joy.  :<  Won't  you 
come  along  with  us  ?  I  told  your  father  we  Jd  look 
after  you." 

«!_»  She  hesitated.  "I  think  I  shall,  if  you 
don't  mind."  She  was  looking  straight  at  him,  and 
her  face  was  no  longer  defiant  and  mocking. 
"  Really,  Mr.  Smoke,  you  make  me  almost  sorry  for 
what  I  have  done.  But  somebody  had  to  save  the 
old-timers." 


THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK      87 

"  It  strikes  me  that  stampeding  is  at  best  a  sport 
ing  proposition." 

"  And  it  strikes  me  you  two  are  very  game  about 
it,"  she  went  on,  then  added  with  the  shadow  of  a 
sigh.  "  What  a  pity  you  are  not  old-timers !  " 

For  two  hours  more  they  kept  to  the  frozen  creek 
bed  of  Norway,  then  turned  into  a  narrow  and  rugged 
tributary  that  flowed  from  the  south.  At  midday 
they  began  the  ascent  of  the  divide  itself.  Behind 
them,  looking  down  and  back,  they  could  see  the  long 
line  of  stampeders  breaking  up.  Here  and  there,  in 
scores  of  places,  thin  smoke-columns  advertised  the 
making  of  camps. 

As  for  themselves,  the  going  was  hard.  They 
wrallowed  through  snow  to  their  waists,  and  were  com 
pelled  to  stop  every  few  yards  to  breathe.  Shorty  was 
the  first  to  call  a  halt. 

"  We  been  hittin'  the  trail  for  over  twelve  hours," 
he  said.  "  Smoke,  I  'm  plumb  willin'  to  say  I  'm  good 
an'  tired.  An'  so  are  you.  An'  I  'm  free  to  shout 
that  I  can  sure  hang  on  to  this  here  pasear  like  a 
starvin'  Indian  to  a  hunk  of  bear-meat.  But  this 
poor  girl  here  can't  keep  her  legs  no  time  if  she  don't 
get  something  in  her  stomach.  Here 's  where  we 
build  a  fire.  What  d'ye  say?" 

So  quickly,  so  deftly  and  methodically,  did  they  go 
about  making  a  temporary  camp  that  Joy,  watching 
with  jealous  eyes,  admitted  to  herself  that  old-timers 
could  not  do  it  better.  Spruce-boughs,  with  a  spread 
blanket  on  top,  gave  a  foundation  for  rest  and  cook 
ing  operations.  But  they  kept  away  from  the  heat 


88  SMOKE  BELLEW 

of  the  fire  until  noses  and  cheeks  had  been  rubbed 
cruelly. 

Smoke  spat  in  the  air,  and  the  resultant  crackle 
was  so  immediate  and  loud  that  he  shook  his  head. 
"  I  give  it  up,"  he  said.  "  I  've  never  seen  cold  like 
this." 

"  One  winter  on  the  Koyukuk  it  went  to  eighty- 
six  below,"  Joy  answered.  "  It 's  at  least  seventy 
or  seventy-five  right  now,  and  I  know  I  've  frosted 
my  cheeks.  They  're  burning  like  fire." 

On  the  steep  slope  of  the  divide  there  was  no  ice, 
so  snow,  as  fine  and  hard  and  crystalline  as  granu 
lated  sugar,  was  poured  into  the  gold-pan  by  the 
bushel  until  enough  had  been  melted  for  the  coffee. 
Smoke  fried  bacon  and  thawed  biscuits.  Shorty 
kept  the  fuel  supplied  and  tended  the  fire,  and  Joy 
set  the  simple  table  composed  of  two  plates,  two  cups, 
two  spoons,  a  tin  of  mixed  salt  and  pepper,  and  a  tin 
of  sugar.  When  it  came  to  eating,  she  and  Smoke 
shared  one  set  between  them.  They  ate  out  of  the 
same  plate  and  drank  from  the  same  cup. 

It  was  nearly  two  in  the  afternoon  when  they 
cleared  the  crest  of  the  divide  and  began  dropping 
down  a  feeder  of  Squaw  Creek.  Earlier  in  the  win 
ter  some  moose-hunter  had  made  a  trail  up  the  can 
yon;  that  is,  in  going  up  and  down  he  had  stepped 
always  in  his  previous  tracks.  As  a  result,  in  the 
midst  of  soft  snow  and  veiled  under  later  snowfalls, 
was  a  line  of  irregular  hummocks.  If  one's  foot 
missed  a  hummock,  he  plunged  down  through  un 
packed  snow  and  usually  to  a  fall.  Also,  the  moose- 


THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK      89 

hunter  had  been  an  exceptionally  long-legged  individ 
ual.  Joy,  who  was  eager  now  that  the  two  men  should 
stake,  and  fearing  that  they  were  slackening  their 
pace  on  account  of  her  evident  weariness,  insisted  on 
taking  her  turn  in  the  lead.  The  speed  and  manner 
in  which  she  negotiated  the  precarious  footing  called 
out  Shorty's  unqualified  approval. 

"  Look  at  her !  "  he  cried.  "  She  's  the  real  goods 
an'  the  red  meat.  Look  at  them  moccasins  swing 
along.  No  high-heels  there.  She  uses  the  legs  God 
gave  her.  She 's  the  right  squaw  for  any  bear- 
hunter." 

She  flashed  back  a  smile  of  acknowledgment  that 
included  Smoke.  He  caught  a  feeling  of  chummi- 
ness,  though  at  the  same  time  he  was  bitingly  aware 
that  it  was  very  much  of  a  woman  who  embraced  him 
in  that  comradely  smile. 

Looking  back,  as  they  came  to  the  bank  of  Squaw 
Creek,  they  could  see  the  stampede,  strung  out  irreg 
ularly,  struggling  along  the  descent  of  the  divide. 

They  slipped  down  the  bank  to  the  creek  bed.  The 
stream,  frozen  solidly  to  bottom,  was  from  twenty  to 
thirty  feet  wide  and  ran  between  six-  and  eight-foot 
earth  banks  of  alluvial  wash.  No  recent  feet  had 
disturbed  the  snow  that  lay  upon  its  ice,  and  they 
knew  they  were  above  the  discovery  claim  and  the 
last  stakes  of  the  Sea  Lion  stampeders. 

"  Look  out  for  springs,"  Joy  warned,  as  Smoke  led 
the  way  down  the  creek.  "  At  seventy  below  you  '11 
lose  your  feet  if  you  break  through." 

These  springs,  common  to  most  Klondike  streams, 


QO  SMOKE  BELLEW 

never  cease  at  the  lowest  temperatures.  The  water 
flows  out  from  the  banks  and  lies  in  pools  which  are 
cuddled  from  the  cold  by  later  surface-freezings  and 
snowfalls.  Thus,  a  man,  stepping  on  dry  snow, 
might  break  through  half  an  inch  of  ice-skin  and  find 
himself  up  to  the  knees  in  water.  In  five  minutes, 
unless  able  to  remove  the  wet  gear,  the  loss  of  one's 
feet  was  the  penalty. 

Though  only  three  in  the  afternoon,  the  long  gray 
twilight  of  the  arctic  had  settled  down.  They 
watched  for  a  blazed  tree  on  either  bank,  which  would 
show  the  center-stake  of  the  last  claim  located.  Joy, 
impulsively  eager,  was  the  first  to  find  it.  She  darted 
ahead  of  Smoke,  crying : 

"  Somebody  's  been  there !  See  the  snow !  Look 
for  the  blaze !  There  it  is !  See  that  spruce !  "  She 
sank  suddenly  to  her  waist  in  the  snow.  "  Now  I  've 
done  it,"  she  said  wroefully.  Then  she  cried: 
"  Don't  come  near  me !  I  '11  wade  out." 

Step  by  step,  each  time  breaking  through  the  thin 
skin  of  ice  concealed  under  the  dry  snow,  she  forced 
her  way  to  solid  footing.  Smoke  did  not  wait,  but 
sprang  to  the  bank,  where  dry  and  seasoned,  twigs 
and  sticks,  lodged  among  the  brush  by  spring  fresh 
ets,  waited  the  match.  By  the  time  she  reached  his 
side  the  first  flames  and  flickers  of  an  assured  fire 
were  rising. 

"  Sit  down !  "  he  commanded. 

She  obediently  sat  down  in  the  snow.  He  slipped 
his  pack  from  his  back,  and  spread  a  blanket  for  her 
feet. 


It  was  as  if  her  feet  and  calves  were  encased  in  corrugated  iron. 


THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK      93 

From  above  came  the  voices  of  the  stampeders  who 
followed  them. 

"  Let  Shorty  stake,"  she  urged. 

"  Go  on,  Shorty,"  Smoke  said,  as  he  attacked  her 
moccasins,  already  stiff  with  ice.  "  Pace  off  a  thou 
sand  feet  and  place  the  two  center-stakes.  We  can 
fix  the  corner-stakes  aftenvard." 

With  his  knife,  Smoke  cut  away  the  lacings  and 
leather  of  the  moccasins.  So  stiff  were  they  with  ice 
that  they  snapped  and  crackled  under  the  hacking  and 
sawing.  The  siwash  socks  and  heavy  woolen  stock 
ings  were  sheaths  of  ice.  It  was  as  if  her  feet  and 
calves  were  encased  in  corrugated  iron. 

"  How  are  your   feet?  "  he  asked  as  he  worked. 

"  Pretty  numb.  I  can't  move  nor  feel  my  toes. 
But  it  will  be  all  right.  The  fire  is  burning  beauti 
fully.  Watch  out  you  don't  freeze  your  hands. 
They  must  be  numb  now  from  the  way  you  're  fumb 
ling." 

He  slipped  his  mittens  on,  and  for  nearly  a  minute 
smashed  the  open  hands  savagely  against  his  sides. 
When  he  felt  the  blood  prickle,  he  pulled  off  the  mit 
tens  and  ripped  and  tore  and  sawed  and  hacked  at 
the  frozen  garments.  The  white  skin  of  one  foot  ap 
peared,  then  that  of  the  other,  to  be  exposed  to  the 
bite  of  seventy  below  zero,  which  is  the  equivalent  of 
one  hundred  and  two  below  freezing. 

Then  came  the  rubbing  with  snow,  carried  on  with 
an  intensity  of  cruel  fierceness,  till  she  squirmed  and 
shrank  and  moved  her  toes,  and  joyously  complained 
of  the  hurt.  He  half  dragged  her,  and  she  half  lifted 


94  SMOKE  BELLEW 

herself,  nearer  to  the  fire.  He  placed  her  feet  on  the 
blanket  close  to  the  flesh-saving  flames. 

'  You  '11  have  to  take  care  of  them  for  a  while," 
he  said. 

She  could  now  safely  remove  her  mittens  and  work 
and  manipulate  her  own  feet,  with  the  wisdom  of  the 
initiated  being  watchful  that  the  heat  of  the  fire  was 
absorbed  slowly.  While  she  did  this,  he  attacked  his 
hands.  The  snow  did  not  melt  nor  moisten.  Its 
light  crystals  were  like  so  much  sand.  Slowly  the 
stings  and  pangs  of  circulation  came  back  into  the 
chilled  flesh.  Then  he  tended  the  fire,  unstrapped  the 
light  pack  from  her  back,  and  got  out  a  complete 
change  of  foot-gear. 

Shorty  returned  along  the  creek  bed  and  climbed 
the  bank  to  them.  "  I  sure  staked  a  full  thousan' 
feet,"  he  proclaimed.  "  Number  twenty-seven  an* 
number  twenty-eight,  though  I  'd  only  got  the  upper 
stake  of  twenty-seven  when  I  met  the  first  geezer  of 
the  bunch  behind.  He  just  straight  declared  I 
was  n't  goin'  to  stake  twenty-eight.  An'  I  told 
him—" 

"Yes,  yes,"  Joy  cried.  "What  did  you  tell 
him?" 

"  Well,  I  told  him  straight  that  if  he  did  n't  back 
up  plumb  five  hundred  feet  I  'd  sure  punch  his  frozen 
nose  into  raspberry  ice-cream.  He  backed  up,  an' 
I  Ve  got  in  the  center-stakes  of  two  full  an' 
honest  five-hundred-foot  creek  claims.  He  staked 
next,  an'  I  guess  by  now  the  bunch  has  Squaw  Creek 
located  to  head-waters  an'  down  the  other  side.  Ourn 


THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK      95 

is  safe.  It 's  too  dark  to  see  now,  but  we  can  put  out 
the  corner-stakes  in  the  mornin'." 

When  they  awoke,  they  found  a  change  had  taken 
place  during  the  night.  So  warm  was  it,  that  Shorty 
and  Smoke,  still  in  their  mutual  blankets,  estimated 
the  temperature  at  no  more  than  twenty  below.  The 
cold  snap  had  broken.  On  top  of  their  blankets  lay 
six  inches  of  frost-crystals. 

"  Good  morning,  how  are  your  feet  ?  "  was  Smoke's 
greeting  across  the  ashes  of  the  fire  to  where  Joy 
Gastell,  carefully  shaking  aside  the  snow,  was  sitting 
up  in  her  sleeping-furs. 

Shorty  built  the  fire  and  quarried  ice  from  the  creek, 
while  Smoke  cooked  breakfast.  Daylight  came  on  as 
they  finished  the  meal. 

'  You  go  an'  fix  them  corner-stakes,  Smoke/' 
Shorty  said.  ''  There  's  gravel  under  where  I  chopped 
ice  for  the  coffee,  an'  I  'm  goin'  to  melt  snow  and 
wash  a  pan  of  that  same  gravel  for  luck." 

Smoke  departed,  ax  in  hand,  to  blaze  the  stakes. 
Starting  from  the  down-stream  center-stake  of 
twenty-seven,  he  headed  at  right  angles  across  the  nar 
row  valley  toward  its  rim.  He  proceeded  methodic 
ally,  almost  automatically,  for  his  mind  was  alive  with 
recollections  of  the  night  before.  He  felt,  somehow, 
that  he  had  won  to  empery  over  the  delicate  lines  and 
firm  muscles  of  those  feet  and  ankles  he  had  rubbed 
with  snow,  and  this  empery  seemed  to  extend  to  the 
rest  and  all  of  this  woman  of  his  kind.  In  dim  and 
fiery  ways  a  feeling  of  possession  mastered  him.  It 
seemed  that  all  that  was  necessary  was  for  him  to 


96  SMOKE  BELLEW 

walk  up  to  this  Joy  Gastell,  take  her  hand  in  his,  and 
say,  "  Come." 

It  was  in  this  mood  that  he  discovered  something 
that  made  him  forget  empery  over  the  white  feet  of 
woman.  At  the  valley  rim  he  blazed  no  corner- 
stake.  He  did  not  reach  the  valley  rim,  but,  instead, 
he  found  himself  confronted  by  another  stream.  He 
lined  up  with  his  eye  a  blasted  willow-tree  and  a  big 
and  recognizable  spruce.  He  returned  to  the  stream 
where  were  the  center-stakes.  He  followed  the  bed 
of  the  creek  around  a  wide  horseshoe  bend  through 
the  flat  and  found  that  the  two  creeks  were  the  same 
creek.  Next,  he  floundered  twice  through  the  snow 
from  valley  rim  to  valley  rim,  running  the  first  line 
from  the  lower  stake  of  twenty-seven,  the  second  from 
the  upper  stake  of  twenty-eight;  and  he  found  that 
the  upper  stake  of  the  latter  was  lower  than  the  lower 
stake  of  the  former.  In  the  gray  twilight  and  half- 
darkness,  Shorty  had  located  their  two  claims  on  the 
horseshoe. 

Smoke  plodded  back  to  the  little  camp.  Shorty,  at 
the  end  of  washing  a  pan  of  gravel,  exploded  at  sight 
of  him. 

"  We  got  it !  "  Shorty  cried,  holding  out  the  pan. 
"  Look  at  it !  A  nasty  mess  of  gold.  Two  hundred 
right  there  if  it 's  a  cent.  She  runs  rich  from  the  top 
of  the  wash-gravel.  I  Ve  churned  around  placers 
some,  but  I  never  got  butter  like  what 's  in  this  pan/' 

Smoke  cast  an  incurious  glance  at  the  coarse  gold, 
poured  himself  a  cup  of  coffee  at  the  fire,  and  sat 
down.  Joy  sensed  something  wrong  and  looked  at 


THE  STAMPEDE  TO  SQUAW  CREEK      97 

him  with  eagerly  solicitous  eyes.  Shorty,  however, 
was  disgruntled  by  his  partner's  lack  of  delight  in  the 
discovery. 

"Why  don't  you  kick  in  an'  get  excited?"  he  de 
manded.  "  We  got  our  pile  right  here,  unless  you  're 
stickin'  up  your  nose  at  two-hundred-dollar  pans." 

Smoke  took  a  swallow  of  coffee  before  replying. 
"  Shorty,  why  are  our  two  claims  here  like  the  Panama 
Canal?" 

"What's  the  answer?" 

"  Well,  the  eastern  entrance  of  the  Panama  Canal 
is  west  of  the  western  entrance,  that's  all." 

"  Go  on,"  Shorty  said.     "  I  ain't  seen  the  joke  yet." 

"  In  short,  Shorty,  you  staked  our  two  claims  on  a 
big  horseshoe  bend." 

Shorty  set  the  gold-pan  down  in  the  snow  and 
stood  up.  "  Go  on,"  he  repeated. 

"  The  upper  stake  of  twenty-eight  is  ten  feet  be 
low  the  lower  stake  of  twenty-seven." 

'You  mean  we  ain't  got  nothin',  Smoke?" 

"Worse  than  that;  we've  got  ten  feet  less  than 
nothing." 

Shorty  departed  down  the  bank  on  the  run.  Five 
minutes  later  he  returned.  In  response  to  Joy's  look 
he  nodded.  Without  speech,  he  went  over  to  a  log 
and  sat  down  to  gaze  steadily  at  the  snow  in  front 
of  his  moccasins. 

"  We  might  as  well  break  camp  and  start  back  for 
Dawson,"  Smoke  said,  beginning  to  fold  the  blankets. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Smoke,"  Joy  said.  "  It 's  all  my 
fault." 


98  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  It 's  all  right,"  he  answered.  "  All  in  the  day's 
work,  you  know." 

"  But  it 's  my  fault,  wholly  mine,"  she  persisted. 
"  Dad  's  staked  for  me  down  near  Discovery,  I  know. 
I  '11  give  you  my  claim." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Shorty,"  she  pleaded. 

Shorty  shook  his  head  and  began  to  laugh.  It  was 
a  colossal  laugh.  Chuckles  and  muffled  explosions 
yielded  to  hearty  roars. 

"  It  ain't  hysterics,"  he  explained.  "  I  sure  get 
powerful  amused  at  times,  an'  this  is  one  of  them." 

His  gaze  chanced  to  fall  on  the  gold-pan.  He 
walked  over  and  gravely  kicked  it,  scattering  the  gold 
over  the  landscape.  "  It  ain't  ourn,"  he  said.  "  It 
belongs  to  the  geezer  I  backed  up  five  hundred  feet  last 
night.  An'  what  gets  me  is,  four  hundred  and  ninety 
of  them  feet  was  to  the  good  —  his  good.  Come  on, 
Smoke.  Let 's  start  the  hike  to  Dawson.  Though  if 
you  're  hankerin'  to  kill  me  I  won't  lift  a  finger  to  pre 
vent." 


IV 

SHORTY   DREAMS 

!T?UXNY  you  don't  gamble  none,"  Shorty  said  to 
-F  Smoke  one  night  in  the  Elkhorn.  "  Ain't  it  in 
your  blood  ?  " 

"  It  is,"  Smoke  answered.  "  But  the  statistics  are 
in  my  head.  I  like  an  even  break  for  my  money." 

All  about  them,  in  the  huge  barroom,  arose  the  click 
and  rattle  and  rumble  of  a  dozen  games,  at  which  fur- 
clad,  moccasined  men  tried  their  luck.  Smoke  waved 
his  hand  to  include  them  all. 

"  Look  at  them,"  he  said.  "  It 's  cold  mathematics 
that  they  will  lose  more  than  they  win  to-night,  that 
the  big  proportion  are  losing  right  now." 

"  You  're  sure  strong  on  riggers,"  Shorty  murmured 
admiringly.  "  An'  in  the  main  you  're  right.  But 
they  's  such  a  thing  as  facts.  An'  one  fact  is  streaks 
of  luck.  They 's  times  when  every  geezer  playin' 
wins,  as  I  know,  for  I  've  sat  in  such  games  an'  saw 
more  'n  one  bank  busted.  The  only  way  to  win  at 
gamblin'  is,  wait  for  a  hunch  that  you  've  got  a  lucky 
streak  comin'  and  then  play  it  to  the  roof." 

"  It  sounds  simple,"  Smoke  criticised,  "  so  simple  I 
can't  see  how  men  lose." 

"  The  trouble  is,"  Shorty  admitted,  "  that  most  men 
gets  fooled  on  their  hunches;  On  occasion  I  sure  get 

99 


ioo  SMOKE  BELLE W 

fooled  on  mine.     The  thing  is  to  try  an'  find  out." 

Smoke  shook  his  head.  "  That 's  a  statistic,  too, 
Shorty.  Most  men  prove  wrong  on  their  hunches." 

"  But  don't  you  ever  get  one  of  them  streaky  feelin's 
that  all  you  got  to  do  is  put  your  money  down  an'  pick 
a  winner? " 

Smoke  laughed.  "  I  'm  too  scared  of  the  percentage 
against  me.  But  I  '11  tell  you  what,  Shorty,  I  '11  throw 
a  dollar  on  the  '  high  card  '  right  now,  and  see  if  it  will 
buy  us  a  drink."  Smoke  was  edging  his  way  in  to  the 
faro-table  when  Shorty  caught  his  arm. 

"  Hold  on !  I  'm  gettin'  one  of  them  hunches  now. 
You  put  that  dollar  on  roulette." 

They  went  over  to  the  roulette-table  near  the  bar. 

"  Wait  till  I  give  the  word,"  Shorty  counseled. 

"What  number?"  Smoke  asked. 

"  Pick  it  yourself.     But  wait  till  I  say  let  her  go." 
'  You  don't  mean  to  say  I  've  got  an  even  chance  on 
that  table  ?  "  Smoke  argued. 

"  As  good  as  the  next  geezer's." 

"  But  not  as  good  as  the  bank's." 

"Wait  an'  see,"  Shorty  urged.  "Now!  Let 
her  go!" 

The  game-keeper  had  just  sent  the  little  ivory  ball 
whirling  around  the  smooth  rim  above  the  revolving, 
many-slotted  wheel.  Smoke,  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
table,  reached  over  a  player,  and  blindly  tossed  the 
dollar.  It  slid  along  the  smooth,  green  cloth  and 
stopped  fairly  in  the  center  of  "  34." 

The  ball  came  to  a  rest,  and  the  game-keeper  an 
nounced,  "  Thirty-four  wins !  "  He  swept  the  table, 


SHORTY  "BREAMS'  *  ibi 

and  alongside  of  Smoke's  dollar  stacked  thirty-five  dol 
lars.  Smoke  drew  the  money  in,  and  Shorty  slapped 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Now  that  was  the  real  goods  of  a  hunch,  Smoke ! 
H^pw 'd  I  know  it?  There's  no  tellin'.  I  just  knew 
you  'd  win.  Why,  if  that  dollar  of  yourn  'd  fell  on 
any  other  number  it  'd  won  just  the  same.  When  the 
hunch  is  right,  you  just  can't  help  winnin'." 

"Suppose  it  had  come  double  naught?"  Smoke 
queried,  as  they  made  their  way  to  the  bar. 

"  Then  your  dollar  'd  been  on  double  naught,"  was 
Shorty's  answer.  "  They  's  no  gettin'  away  from  it. 
A  hunch  is  a  hunch.  Here  's  how.  Come  on  back 
to  the  table.  I  got  a  hunch,  after  pickin'  you  for  a 
winner,  that  I  can  pick  some  few  numbers  myself." 

"  Are  you  playing  a  system?  "  Smoke  asked,  at  the 
end  of  ten  minutes,  when  his  partner  had  dropped  a 
hundred  dollars. 

Shorty  shook  his  head  indignantly,  as  he  spread  his 
chips  out  in  the  vicinities  of  "3,"  "  n,"  and  "  17," 
and  tossed  a  spare  chip  on  the  green.  "  Hell  is  sure 
cluttered  with  geezers  that  played  systems,"  he  ex- 
posited,  as  the  keeper  raked  the  table. 

From  idly  watching,  Smoke  became  fascinated,  fol 
lowing  closely  every  detail  of  the  game  from  the 
whirling  of  the  ball  to  the  making  and  the  paying  of 
the  bets.  He  made  no  plays,  however,  merely  con 
tenting  himself  with  looking  on.  Yet  so  interested 
was  he  that  Shorty,  announcing  that  he  had  had 
enough,  with  difficulty  drew  Smoke  away  from  the 
table. 


102  SMOKE  BELLEW 

The  game-keeper  returned  Shorty  the  gold-sack  he 
had  deposited  as  a  credential  for  playing,  and  with  it 
went  a  slip  of  paper  on  which  was  scribbled,  "  Out  — 
$350.00."  Shorty  carried  the  sack  and  the  paper 
across  the  room  and  handed  them  to  the  weigher, 
who  sat  behind  a  large  pair  of  gold-scales.  Out  of 
Shorty's  sack  he  weighed  three  hundred  and  fifty  dol 
lars,  which  he  poured  into  the  coffer  of  the  house. 

''  That  hunch  of  yours  was  another  one  of  those 
statistics,"  Smoke  jeered. 

"  I  had  to  play  it,  did  n't  I,  in  order  to  find  out?  " 
Shorty  retorted.  "  I  reckon  I  was  crowdin'  some  just 
on  account  of  tryin'  to  convince  you  they  's  such  a 
thing  as  hunches." 

"  Never  mind,  Sliorty,"  Smoke  laughed.  "  I  Ve 
got  a  hunch  right  now  — " 

Shorty's  eyes  sparkled  as  he  cried  eagerly :  "  What 
is  it?  Kick  in  an'  play  it  pronto." 

"  It 's  not  that  kind,  Shorty.  Now  what  I  Ve  got 
is  a  hunch  that  some  day  I  '11  work  out  a  system  that 
will  beat  the  spots  off  that  table." 

"  System !  "  Shorty  groaned,  then  surveyed  his 
partner  with  a  vast  pity.  "  Smoke,  listen  to  your  side- 
kicker  an'  leave  system  alone.  Systems  is  sure  losers. 
They  ain't  no  hunches  in  systems." 

"  That 's  why  I  like  them,"  Smoke  answered.  "  A 
system  is  statistical.  When  you  get  the  right  system 
you  can't  lose  and  that 's  the  difference  between  it 
and  a  hunch.  You  never  know  when  the  right  hunch 
is  going  wrong." 

"  But  I  know  a  lot  of  systems  that  went  wrong,  an' 


SHORTY  DREAMS  103 

I  never  seen  a  system  win."  Shorty  paused  and 
sighed.  "  Look  here,  Smoke,  if  you  're  gettin'  cracked 
on  systems  this  ain't  no  place  for  you,  an'  it 's  about 
time  we  hit  the  trail  again." 

During  the  several  following  weeks,  the  two  part 
ners  played  at  cross-purposes.  Smoke  was  bent  on 
spending  his  time  watching  the  roulette  game  in  the 
Elkhorn,  while  Shorty  was  equally  bent  on  traveling 
trail.  At  last  Smoke  put  his  foot  down  when  a  stam 
pede  was  proposed  for  two  hundred  miles  down  the 
Yukon. 

"  Look  here,  Shorty,"  he  said,  "  I  'm  not  going. 
That  trip  will  take  ten  days,  and  before  that  time  I 
hope  to  have  my  system  in  proper  working  order.  I 
could  almost  win  with  it  now.  What  are  you  drag 
ging  me  around  the  country  this  way  for,  anyway?  " 

"  Smoke,  I  got  to  take  care  of  you,"  was  Shorty's 
reply.  "  You  're  gettin'  nutty.  I  'd  drag  you  stam- 
pedin'  to  Jericho  or  the  north  pole  if  I  could  keep  you 
away  from  that  table." 

"  It 's  all  right,  Shorty.  But  just  remember  I  Ve 
reached  full  man-grown,  meat-eating  size.  The  only 
dragging  you  '11  do  will  be  dragging  home  the  dust 
I  'm  going  to  win  with  that  system  of  mine,  and  you  '11 
most  likely  have  to  do  it  with  a  dog-team." 

Shorty's  response  was  a  groan. 

"  And  I  don't  want  you  to  be  bucking  any  games 
on  your  own,"  Smoke  went  on.  "  We  're  going  to 
divide  the  winnings,  and  I  '11  need  all  our  money  to 
get  started.  That  system  's  young  yet,  and  it 's  liable 
to  trip  me  for  a  few  falls  before  I  get  it  lined  up," 


104  SMOKE  BELLEW 

At  last,  after  long  hours  and  days  spent  at  watch 
ing  the  table,  the  night  came  when  Smoke  proclaimed 
that  he  was  ready,  and  Shorty,  glum  and  pessimistic, 
with  all  the  seeming  of  one  attending  a  funeral,  ac 
companied  his  partner  to  the  Elkhorn.  Smoke  bought 
a  stack  of  chips  and  stationed  himself  at  the  game 
keeper's  end  of  the  table.  Again  and  again  the  ball 
was  whirled,  and  the  other  players  won  or  lost,  but 
Smoke  did  not  venture  a  chip.  Shorty  waxed  im 
patient. 

*      "  Buck  in,  buck  in,"  he  urged.     "  Let 's  get  this  fu 
neral  over.     What's  the  matter?     Got  cold  feet?" 

Smoke  shook  his  head  and  waited.  A  dozen  plays 
went  by,  and  then,  suddenly,  he  placed  ten  one-dollar 
chips  on  "  26."  The  number  won,  and  the  keeper 
paid  Smoke  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  A  dozen 
plays  went  by,  twenty  plays,  and  thirty,  when  Smoke 
placed  ten  dollars  on  "  32."  Again  he  received  three 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 

"  It's  a  hunch!  "  Shorty  whispered  vociferously  in 
his  ear.  "Ride  it!  Ride  it!" 

Half  an  hour  went  by,  during  which  Smoke  was 
inactive,  then  he  placed  ten  dollars  on  "  34  "  and  won. 

"  A  hunch !  "  Shorty  whispered. 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,"  Smoke  whispered  back. 
"  It 's  the  system.  Is  n't  she  a  dandy?  " 

"  You  can't  tell  me,"  Shorty  contended.  "  Hunches 
comes  in  mighty  funny  ways.  You  might  think 
it 's  a  system,  but  it  ain't.  Systems  is  impos 
sible.  They  can't  happen.  It 's  a  sure  hunch  you  're 
playin'." 


SHORTY  DREAMS  105 

Smoke  now  altered  his  play.  He  bet  more  fre 
quently,  with  single  chips,  scattered  here  and  there, 
and  he  lost  more  often  than  he  won. 

"Quit  it,"  Shorty  advised.  "  Cash  in.  You've 
rung  the  bull's-eye  three  times,  an'  you  're  ahead  a 
thousand.  You  can't  keep  it  up." 

At  this  moment  the  ball  started  whirling,  and  Smoke 
dropped  ten  chips  on  "  26."  The  ball  fell  into  the  slot 
of  "  26,"  and  the  keeper  again  paid  him  three  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars. 

"If  you  're  plumb  crazy  an'  got  the  immortal  cinch, 
bet  'em  the  limit,"  Shorty  said.  "  Put  down  twenty- 
five  next  time." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  during  which  Smoke 
won  and  lost  on  small  scattering  bets.  Then,  with  the 
abruptness  that  characterized  his  big  betting,  he  placed 
twenty-five  dollars  on  "  oo,"  and  the  keeper  paid  him 
eight  hundred  and  seventy-five  dollars. 

"  Wake  me  up,  Smoke,  I  'm  dreamin',"  Shorty 
moaned. 

Smoke  smiled,  consulted  his  notebook,  and  became 
absorbed  in  calculation.  He  continually  drew  the 
notebook  from  his  pocket,  and  from  time  to  time  jotted 
down  figures. 

A  crowd  had  packed  densely  around  the  table,  while 
the  players  themselves  were  attempting  to  cover  the 
same  numbers  he  covered.  It  was  then  that  a  change 
came  over  his  play.  Ten  times  in  succession  he  placed 
ten  dollars  on  "  18"  and  lost.  At  this  stage  he  was 
deserted  by  the  hardiest.  He  changed  his  number  and 
won  another  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  Immedi- 


io6  SMOKE  BELLEW 

ately  the  players  were  back  with  him,  deserting  agaii* 
after  a  series  of  losing  bets. 

"  Quit  it,  Smoke,  quit  it,"  Shorty  advised.  "  The 
longest  string  of  hunches  is  only  so  long,  an'  your 
string  's  finished.  No  more  bull's-eyes  for  you." 

"  I  'm  going  to  ring  her  once  again  before  I  cash 
in,"  Smoke  answered. 

For  a  few  minutes,  with  varying  luck,  he  played 
scattering  chips  over  the  table,  and  then  dropped 
twenty-five  dollars  on  "  oo." 

"  I  '11  take  my  slip  now,"  he  said  to  the  dealer,  as 
he  won. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  need  to  show  it  to  me,"  Shorty  said, 
as  they  walked  to  the  weigher.  "  I  been  keepin'  track. 
You  're  something  like  thirty-six  hundred  to  the  good. 
How  near  am  I  ?  " 

"  Thirty-six  sixty,"  Smoke  replied.  "  And  now 
you  've  got  to  pack  the  dust  home.  That  was  the 
agreement." 

"  Don't  crowd  your  luck,"  Shorty  pleaded  with 
Smoke,  the  next  night,  in  the  cabin,  as  he  evidenced 
preparations  to  return  to  the  Elkhorn.  "  You  played 
a  mighty  long  string  of  hunches,  but  you  played  it  out. 
If  you  go  back  you  '11  sure  drop  all  your  winnings." 

"  But  I  tell  you  it  is  n't  hunches,  Shorty.  It 's  sta 
tistics.  It 's  a  system.  It  can't  lose." 

"  System  the  devil.  They  ain't  no  such  a  thing  as 
system.  I  made  seventeen  straight  passes  at  a  crap- 
table  once.  Was  it  system  ?  Nope.  It  was  fool  luck, 
only  I  had  cold  feet  an'  did  n't  dast  let  it  ride.  If 
it  'd  rid,  instead  of  me  dra.\vin'  down  after  the  third 


SHORTY  DRE  \MS  107 

pass  I  'd  'a'  won  over  thirty  thousan'  on  the  original 
two-bit  piece." 

"  Just  the  same,  Shorty,  this  is  a  real  system." 

"  Huh!     You  got  to  show  me." 

"  I  did  show  you.  Come  on  with  me  now,  and  I  '11 
show  you  again." 

When  they  entered  the  Elkhorn  all  eyes  centered  on 
Smoke,  and  those  about  the  table  made  way  for  him 
as  he  took  up  his  old  place  at  the  keeper's  end.  His 
play  was  quite  unlike  that  of  the  previous  night.  In 
the  course  of  an  hour  and  a  half  he  made  only  four 
bets,  but  each  bet  was  for  twenty-five  dollars,  and 
each  bet  won.  He  cashed  in  thirty-five  hundred  dol 
lars,  and  Shorty  carried  the  dust  home  to  the  cabin. 

"  Now  's  the  time  to  jump  the  game,"  Shorty  ad 
vised,  as  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bunk  and  took  off 
his  moccasins.  "  You  're  seven  thousan'  ahead.  A 
man  's  a  fool  that  'd  crowd  his  luck  harder." 

"  Shorty,  a  man  would  be  a  blithering  lunatic  if 
he  did  n't  keep  on  backing  a  winning  system  like  mine." 

"  Smoke,  you  're  a  sure  bright  boy.  You  're  col 
lege-learnt.  You  know  more  'n  a  minute  than  I  could 
know  in  forty  thousan'  years.  But  just  the  same 
you  're  dead  wrong  when  you  call  your  luck  a  system. 
I  've  been  around  some,  an'  seen  a  few,  an'  I  tell  you 
straight  an'  confidential  an'  all-assurin',  a  system  to 
beat  a  bankin'  game  ain't  possible." 

"  But  I  'm  showing  you  this  one.     It 's  a  pipe." 

"  No,  you  're  not,  Smoke.  It 's  a  pipe-dream.  I  'm 
asleep.  Bimeby  I  '11  wake  up,  an'  build  the  fire,  an' 
start  breakfast." 


io8  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Well,  my  unbelieving  friend,  there 's  the  dust. 
Heft  it." 

So  saying,  Smoke  tossed  the  bulging  gold-sack  upon 
his  partner's  knees.  It  weighed  thirty-five  pounds,  and 
Shorty  was  fully  aware  of  the  crush  of  its  impact 
on  his  flesh. 

"  It 's  real,"  Smoke  hammered  his  point  home. 

"  Huh !  I  've  saw  some  mighty  real  dreams  in  my 
time.  In  a  dream  all  things  is  possible.  In  real  life 
a  system  ain't  possible.  Now  I  ain't  never  been  to 
college,  but  I  'm  plumb  justified  in  sizin'  up  this  gam- 
blin'  orgy  of  ourn  as  a  sure-enough  dream." 

"  Hamilton's  Taw  of  Parsimony,'  "  Smoke  laughed. 

"  I  ain't  never  heard  of  the  geezer,  but  his  dope  's 
sure  right.  I  'm  dreamin',  Smoke,  an'  you  're  just 
snoopin'  around  in  my  dream  an'  tormentin'  me  with 
system.  If  you  love  me,  if  you  sure  do  love  me,  you  '11 
just  yell:  '  Shorty!  Wake  up! '  An'  I  '11  wake  up 
an'  start  breakfast." 

The  third  night  of  play,  as  Smoke  laid  his  first  bet, 
the  game-keeper  shoved  fifteen  dollars  back  to  him. 

"  Ten  's  all  you  can  play,"  he  said.  "  The  limit 's 
come  down." 

"  Gettin'  picayune,"  Shorty  sneered. 

"  No  one  has  to  play  at  this  table  that  don't  want 
to,"  the  keeper  retorted.  "  And  I  'm  willing  to  say 
straight  out  in  meeting  that  we  'd  sooner  your  pardner 
did  n't  play  at  our  table." 

"  Scared  of  his  system,  eh?  "  Shorty  challenged,  as 
the  keeper  paid  over  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 

"  I  ain't  saying  I  believe  in  system,  because  I  don't. 


SHORTY  DREAMS  109 

There  never  was  a  system  that  'd  beat  roulette  or  any 
percentage  game.  But  just  the  same  I  've  seen  some 
queer  strings  of  luck,  and  I  ain't  going  to  let  this  bank 
go  bust  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  Cold  feet." 

"  Gambling  is  just  as  much  business,  my  friend,  as 
any  other  business.  We  ain't  philanthropists." 

Night  by  night,  Smoke  continued  to  win.  His 
method  of  play  varied.  Expert  after  expert,  in  the 
jam  about  the  table,  scribbled  down  his  bets  and  num 
bers  in  vain  attempts  to  work  out  his  system.  They 
complained  of  their  inability  to  get  a  clue  to  start 
with,  and  swore  that  it  was  pure  luck,  though  the  most 
colossal  streak  of  it  they  had  ever  seen. 

It  was  Smoke's  varied  play  that  obfuscated  them. 
Sometimes,  consulting  his  notebook  or  engaging  in 
long  calculations,  an  hour  elapsed  without  his  staking 
a  chip.  At  other  times  he  would  win  three  limit-bets 
and  clean  up  a  thousand  dollars  and  odd,  in  five  or  ten 
minutes.  At  still  other  times,  his  tactics  would  be  to 
scatter  single  chips  prodigally  and  amazingly  over  the 
table.  This  would  continue  for  from  ten  to  thirty 
minutes  of  play,  when,  abruptly,  as  the  ball  whirled 
through  the  last  few  of  its  circles,  he  would  play  the 
limit  on  column,  color,  and  number,  and  win  all  three. 
Once,  to  complete  confusion  in  the  minds  of  those 
that  strove  to  divine  his  secret,  he  lost  forty  straight 
bets,  each  at  the  limit.  But  each  night,  play  no  mat 
ter  how  diversely,  Shorty  carried  home  thirty-five  hun 
dred  dollars  for  him. 

"  It  ain't  no  system,"  Shorty  expounded  at  one  of 


i  io  SMOKE  BELLEW 

their  bed-going  discussions.  "  I  follow  you,  an'  fol 
low  you,  but  they  ain't  no  figgerin'  out.  You  never 
play  twice  the  same  .  All  you  do  is  pick  winners  when 
you  want  to,  an'  when  you  don't  want  to  you  just  on 
purpose  don't." 

"  Maybe  you  're  nearer  right  than  you  think,  Shorty. 
I  've  just  got  to  pick  losers  sometimes.  It 's  part  of 
the  system." 

"  System  the  devil !  I  've  talked  with  every  gam 
bler  in  town,  an'  the  last  one  is  agreed  they  ain't 
no  such  thing  as  system." 

'  Yet  I  'm  showing  them  one  all  the  time." 

"  Look  here,  Smoke."  Shorty  paused  over  the 
candle,  in  the  act  of  blowing  it  out.  "  I  'm  real  irri 
tated.  Maybe  you  think  this  is  a  candle.  It  ain't. 
No,  sir !  An'  this  ain't  me  neither.  I  'm  out  on  trail 
somewheres,  in  my  blankets,  lyin'  flat  on  my  back  with 
my  mouth  open,  an'  dreamin'  all  this.  And  that 
ain't  you  talkin',  any  more  than  this  candle  is  a 
candle." 

"  It 's  funny  how  I  happen  to  be  dreaming  along 
with  you  then,"  Smoke  persisted. 

"  No,  it  ain't.  You  're  part  of  my  dream,  that 's 
all.  I  've  hearn  many  a  man  talk  in  my  dreams.  I 
want  to  tell  you  one  thing,  Smoke,  I  'm  gettin'  mangy 
an'  mad.  If  this  here  dream  keeps  up  much  more  I  'm 
goin'  to  bite  my  veins  an'  howl." 

On  the  sixth  night  of  play  at  the  Elkhorn,  the  limit 
was  reduced  to  five  dollars. 

"  It 's  all  right,"  Smoke  assured  the  game-keeper. 
"  I  want  thirty-five  hundred  to-night,  as  usual,  and 


SHORTY  DREAMS  in 

you  only  compel  me  to  play  longer.  I  've  got  to  pick 
twice  as  many  winners,  that 's  all." 

"  Why  don't  you  buck  somebody  else's  table?  "  the 
keeper  demanded  wrathfully. 

"  Because  I  like  this  one."  Smoke  glanced  over  at 
the  roaring  stove  only  a  few  feet  away.  "  Besides, 
there  are  no  drafts  here,  and  it  is  warm  and  comfor 
table." 

On  the  ninth  night,  \vhen  Shorty  had  carried  the 
dust  home,  he  had  a  fit.  "  I  quit,  Smoke,  I  quit,"  he 
began.  "  I  know  when  I  got  enough.  I  ain't 
dreamin'.  I  'm  wide  awake.  A  system  can't  be,  but 
you  got  one  just  the  same.  There  's  nothin'  in  the 
rule  o'  three.  The  almanac  's  clean  out.  The  world  's 
gone  smash.  There  's  nothin'  regular  an'  uniform  no 
more.  The  multiplication  table  's  gone  loco.  Two  is 
eight,  nine  is  eleven,  and  two-times-two  is  eight  hun 
dred  an'  forty-six  —  an'  —  an'  a  half.  Anything  is 
everything,  an'  nothing 's  all,  an'  twice  all  is  cold- 
cream,  milk-shakes,  an'  calico  horses.  You  've  got  a 
system.  Figgers  beat  the  figgerin'.  What  ain't  is, 
an'  what  is  n't  has  to  be.  The  sun  rises  in  the  \vest, 
the  moon  's  a  pay-streak,  the  stars  is  canned  corn-beef, 
scurvy  's  the  blessin'  of  God,  him  that  dies  kicks  again, 
rocks  floats,  water  's  gas,  I  ain't  me,  you  're  somebody 
else,  an'  mebbe  we  're  twins  if  we  ain't  hashed-brown 
potatoes  fried  in  verdigris.  Wake  me  up,  somebody! 
Oh,  wake  me  up !  " 

The  next  morning  a  visitor  came  to  the  cabin. 
Smoke  knew  him,  Harvey  Moran,  the  owner  of  all 
the  games  in  the  Tivoli.  There  was  a  note  of  appeal 


ii2  SMOKE  BELLEW 

in  his  deep  gruff  voice  as  he  plunged  into  his  business. 

"  It 's  like  this,  Smoke,"  he  began.  "  You  Ve  got 
us  all  guessing.  I  'm  representing  nine  other  game- 
owners  and  myself  from  all  the  saloons  in  town.  We 
don't  understand.  We  know  that  no  system  ever 
worked  against  roulette.  All  the  mathematic  sharps 
in  the  colleges  have  told  us  gamblers  the  same  thing. 
They  say  that  roulette  itself  is  the  system,  the  one  and 
only  system,  and  therefore  that  no  system  can  beat 
it,  for  that  would  mean  arithmetic  has  gone  bug 
house."  Shorty  nodded  his  head  violently. 

"  If  a  system  can  beat  a  system,  then  there  's  no  such 
thing  as  system,"  the  gambler  went  on.  "  In  such  a 
case  anything  could  be  possible  —  a  thing  could  be  in 
two  different  places  at  once,  or  two  things  could  be  in 
the  same  place  that 's  only  large  enough  for  one  at 
the  same  time." 

"  Well,  you  Ve  seen  me  play,"  Smoke  answered  defi 
antly;  "  and  if  you  think  it 's  only  a  string  of  luck  on 
my  part,  why  worry?  " 

"  That 's  the  trouble.  We  can't  help  worrying. 
It 's  a  system  you  Ve  got,  and  all  the  time  we  know 
it  can't  be.  I  Ve  watched  you  five  nights  now,  and  all 
I  can  make  out  is  that  you  favor  certain  numbers  and 
keep  on  winning.  Now  the  ten  of  us  game-owners 
have  got  together,  and  we  want  to  make  a  friendly 
proposition.  We  '11  put  a  roulette-table  in  a  back  room 
of  the  Elkhorn,  pool  the  bank  against  you,  and  have 
you  buck  us.  It  will  be  all  quiet  and  private.  Just 
you  and  Shorty  and  us.  What  do  you  say?  " 

"  I  think  it 's  the  other  way  around,"  Smoke  an- 


SHORTY  DREAMS  113 

swered.  "  It 's  up  to  you  to  come  and  see  me.  I  '11 
be  playing  in  the  barroom  of  the  Elkhorn  to-night. 
You  can  watch  me  there  just  as  well." 

That  night,  when  Smoke  took  up  his  customary 
place  at  the  table,  the  keeper  shut  down  the  game. 
"  The  game  's  closed,"  he  said.  "  Boss's  orders." 

But  the  assembled  game-owners  were  not  to  be 
balked.  In  a  few  minutes  they  arranged  a  pool,  each 
putting  in  a  thousand,  and  took  over  the  table. 

"  Come  on  and  buck  us,"  Harvey  Moran  challenged, 
as  the  keeper  sent  the  ball  on  its  first  whirl  around. 

"  Give  me  the  twenty-five  limit?  "  Smoke  suggested. 

"Sure;  go  to  it." 

Smoke  immediately  placed  twenty-five  chips  on 
"  oo  "  and  won. 

Moran  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  forehead.  "  Go 
on,"  he  said.  "  We  got  ten  thousand  in  this  bank." 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  and  a  half,  the  ten  thousand 
was  Smoke's. 

"  The  bank  's  bust,"  the  keeper  announced. 

"  Got  enough?  "  Smoke  asked. 

The  game-owners  looked  at  one  another.  They 
were  awed.  They,  the  fatted  proteges  of  the  laws  of 
chance,  were  undone.  They  were  up  against  one  who 
had  more  intimate  access  to  those  laws,  or  who  had 
invoked  higher  and  undreamed  laws. 

"  We  quit,"  Moran  said.  "  Ain't  that  right, 
Burke?" 

Big  Burke,  who  owned  the  games  in  the  M.  and  G. 
Saloon,  nodded.  !<  The  impossible  has  happened,"  he 
said.  "  This  Smoke  here  has  got  a  system  all  right. 


H4  SMOKE  BELLEW 

If  we  let  him  go  on  we  '11  all  bust.  All  I  can  see,  if 
we  're  goin'  to  keep  our  tables  running,  is  to  cut  down 
the  limit  to  a  dollar,  or  to  ten  cents,  or  a  cent.  He 
won't  win  much  in  a  night  with  such  stakes." 

All  looked  at  Smoke. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  In  that  case,  gentle 
men,  I  '11  have  to  hire  a  gang  of  men  to  play  at  all  your 
tables.  I  can  pay  them  ten  dollars  for  a  four-hour 
shift  and  make  money." 

"  Then  we  '11  shut  down  our  tables,"  Big  Burke  re 
plied.  "  Unless  — "  He  hesitated  and  ran  his  eye 
over  his  fellows  to  see  that  they  were  with  him.  "  Un 
less  you  're  willing  to  talk  business.  What  will  you 
sell  the  system  for?" 

"  Thirty  thousand  dollars,"  Smoke  answered. 
"  That 's  a  tax  of  three  thousand  apiece." 

They  debated  and  nodded.  "And  you'll  tell  us 
your  system  ?  " 

"  Surely." 

"  And  you  '11  promise  not  to  play  roulette  in  Daw- 
son  ever  again?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  Smoke  said  positively.  "  I  '11  promise 
not  to  play  this  system  again." 

"  My  God !  "  Moran  exploded.  "  You  have  n't  got 
other  systems,  have  you?" 

"  Hold  on!  "  Shorty  cried.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  my 
pardner.  Come  over  here,  Smoke,  on  the  side." 

Smoke  followed  into  a  quiet  corner  of  the  room, 
while  hundreds  of  curious  eyes  centered  on  him  and 
Shorty. 

"  Look  here,  Smoke,"  Shorty  whispered  hoarsely. 


SHORTY  DREAMS  115 

"  Mebbe  it  ain't  a  dream.  In  which  case  you  're  sellin' 
out  almighty  cheap.  You  've  sure  got  the  world  by 
the  slack  of  its  pants.  They  's  millions  in  it.  Shake 
it!  Shake  it  hard!" 

"  But  if  it 's  a  dream?  "  Smoke  queried  softly. 

"  Then,  for  the  sake  of  the  dream  an'  the  love  of 
Mike,  stick  them  gamblers  up  good  an'  plenty. 
What 's  the  good  of  dreamin'  if  you  can't  dream  to 
the  real  right,  dead  sure,  eternal  finish?  " 

"  Fortunately,  this  is  n't  a  dream,  Shorty." 

"  Then  if  you  sell  out  for  thirty  thousan',  I  '11  never 
forgive  you." 

"  When  I  sell  out  for  thirty  thousand,  you  '11  fall 
on  my  neck  an'  wake  up  to  find  out  that  you  have  n't 
been  dreaming  at  all.  This  is  no  dream,  Shorty.  In 
about  two  minutes  you  '11  see  you  have  been  wide 
awake  all  the  time.  Let  me  tell  you  that  when  I  sell 
out  it 's  because  I  've  got  to  sell  out." 

Back  at  the  table,  Smoke  informed  the  game-own 
ers  that  his  offer  still  held.  They  proffered  him  their 
paper  to  the  extent  of  three  thousand  each. 

"  Hold  out  for  the  dust,"  Shorty  cautioned. 

"  I  was  about  to  intimate  that  I  'd  take  the  money 
weighed  out,"  Smoke  said. 

The  owner  of  the  Elkhorn  cashed  their  paper,  and 
Shorty  took  possession  of  the  gold-dust. 

"  Now  I  don't  want  to  wake  up,"  he  chortled,  as  he 
hefted  the  various  sacks.  "  Toted  up,  it 's  a  seventy- 
thousan'  dream.  It  'd  be  too  blamed  expensive  to 
open  my  eyes,  roll  out  of  the  blanket,  an'  start  break 
fast." 


n6  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"What's  your  system?"  Big  Burke  demanded. 
"  We  've  paid  for  it,  and  we  want  it." 

Smoke  led  the  way  to  the  table.  "  Now,  gentle 
men,  bear  with  me  a  moment.  This  is  n't  an  ordinary 
system.  It  can  scarcely  be  called  legitimate,  but  its 
one  great  virtue  is  that  it  works.  I  've  got  my  sus 
picions,  but  I  'm  not  saying  anything.  You  watch. 
Mr.  Keeper,  be  ready  with  the  ball.  Wait.  I  am  go 
ing  to  pick  '  26.'  Consider  I  've  bet  on  it.  Be  ready, 
Mr.  Keeper.  Now!" 

The  ball  whirled  around. 

"  You  observe,"  Smoke  went  on,  "  that  '  9  '  was  di 
rectly  opposite." 

The  ball  finished  in  "  26." 

Big  Burke  swore  deep  in  his  chest,  and  all  waited. 

"  For  '  oo  '  to  win,  '  1 1  '  must  be  opposite.  Try  it 
yourself  and  see." 

"But  the  system?"  Moran  demanded  impatiently. 
"  We  know  you  can  pick  winning  numbers,  and  we 
know  what  those  numbers  are,  but  how  do  you  do  it?  " 

"  By  observed  sequences.  By  accident  I  chanced 
twice  to  notice  the  ball  whirled  when  '  9  '  was  opposite. 
Both  times  '  26 '  won.  After  that  I  saw  it  happen 
again.  Then  I  looked  for  other  sequences,  and  found 
them.  '  Double  naught '  opposite  fetches  '  32,'  and 
'  1 1  '  fetches  '  oo.'  It  does  n't  always  happen,  but  it 
usually  happens.  You  notice,  I  say  '  usually/  As  I 
said  before,  I  have  my  suspicions,  but  I  'm  not  say 
ing  anything." 

Big  Burke,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  comprehension, 
reached  over,  stopped  the  wheel,  and  examined  it  care- 


SHORTY  DREAMS  117 

fully.  The  heads  of  the  nine  other  game-owners  bent 
over  and  joined  in  the  examination.  Then  Big 
Burke  straightened  up  and  cast  a  glance  at  the  near-by 
stove. 

"  Hell,"  he  said.  "  It  was  n't  any  system  at  all 
The  table  stood  close  to  the  fire,  and  the  blamed 
wheel's  warped.  And  we  've  been  worked  to  a  fraz 
zle.  No  wonder  he  liked  this  table.  He  could  n't 
have  bucked  for  sour  apples  at  any  other  table." 

Harvey  Moran  gave  a  great  sigh  of  relief  and  wiped 
his  forehead.  "  Well,  anyway,"  he  said,  "  it 's  cheap 
at  the  price  just  to  find  out  that  it  was  n't  a  system." 
His  face  began  to  work,  and  then  he  broke  into  laugh 
ter  and  slapped  Smoke  on  the  shoulder.  "  Smoke, 
you  had  us  going  for  a  while,  and  we  patting  our 
selves  on  the  back  because  you  were  letting  our  tables 
alone !  Say,  I  've  got  some  real  fizz  I  '11  open  if  you  '11 
all  come  over  to  the  Tivoli  with  me." 

Later,  back  in  the  cabin,  Shorty  silently  overhauled 
and  hefted  the  various  bulging  gold-sacks.  He  fi 
nally  piled  them  on  the  table,  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  his  bunk,  and  began  taking  off  his  moccasins. 

"  Seventy  thousan',"  he  calculated.  "  It  weighs 
three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  And  all  out  of  a 
warped  wheel  an'  a  quick  eye.  Smoke,  you  eat  'm 
raw,  you  eat  'm  alive,  you  work  under  water,  you  've 
given  me  the  jim-jams;  but  just  the  same  I  know  it 's 
a  dream.  It 's  only  in  dreams  that  the  good  things 
comes  true.  I  'm  almighty  unanxious  to  wake  up.  I 
hope  I  never  wake  up." 

"  Cheer    up,"     Smoke    answered.     "  You    won't 


uS  SMOKE  BELLEW 

There  are  a  lot  of  philosophy  sharps  that  think  men 
are  sleep-walkers.     You  're  in  good  company." 

Shorty  got  up,  went  to  the  table,  selected  the  heavi 
est  sack,  and  cuddled  it  in  his  arms  as  if  it  were  a  baby. 
"  I  may  be  sleep-walkin',"  he  said,  "  but,  as  you  say, 
I  'm  sure  in  mighty  good  company." 


V 

THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK 

TT  was  before  Smoke  Bellew  staked  the  farcical 
•*•  town-site  of  Tra-Lee,  made  the  historic  corner  of 
eggs  that  nearly  broke  Swiftwater  Bill's  bank-account, 
or  won  the  dog-team  race  down  the  Yukon  for  an 
even  million  dollars,  that  he  and  Shorty  parted  com 
pany  on  the  upper  Klondike.  Shorty's  task  was  to  re 
turn  down  the  Klondike  to  Dawson  to  record  some 
claims  they  had  staked. 

Smoke,  with  the  dog-team,  turned  south.  His 
quest  was  Surprise  Lake  and  the  mythical  Two  Cabins. 
His  traverse  was  to  cut  the  headwaters  of  the  Indian 
River  and  cross  the  unknown  region  over  the  moun 
tains  to  the  Stewart  River.  Here,  somewhere,  rumor 
persisted,  was  Surprise  Lake,  surrounded  by  jagged 
mountains  and  glaciers,  its  bottom  paved  with  raw 
gold.  Old-timers,  it  was  said,  whose  very  names 
were  forgotten  in  the  frosts  of  earlier  years,  had 
dived  into  the  icy  waters  of  Surprise  Lake  and  fetched 
lump-gold  to  the  surface  in  both  hands.  At  different 
times  parties  of  old-timers  had  penetrated  the  forbid 
ding  fastness  and  sampled  the  lake's  golden  bottom. 
But  the  water  was  too  cold.  Some  died  in  the  water, 
being  pulled  up  dead.  Others  died  later  of  consump 
tion.  And  one  who  had  gone  down  never  did  come 

119 


120  SMOKE  BELLE W 

up.  All  survivors  had  planned  to  return  and  drain 
the  lake,  yet  none  had  ever  gone  back.  Disaster  al 
ways  smote  them.  One  man  fell  into  an  air-hole  be 
low  Forty  Mile;  another  was  killed  and  eaten  by  his 
dogs;  a  third  was  crushed  by  a  falling  tree.  And  so 
the  tale  ran.  Surprise  Lake  was  a  hoodoo ;  its  location 
was  unremembered ;  and  the  gold  still  paved  its  un- 
drained  bottom. 

Two  Cabins,  no  less  mythical,  was  more  definitely 
located.  "  Five  sleeps  "  up  the  McQuestion  River  from 
the  Stewart  stood  two  ancient  cabins.  So  ancient  were 
they  that  they  must  have  been  built  before  ever  the 
first  known  gold-hunter  had  entered  the  Yukon  Basin. 
Wandering  moose-hunters,  whom  even  Smoke  had  met 
and  talked  with,  claimed  to  have  found  the  two  cabins 
in  the  old  days,  but  to  have  sought  vainly  for  the 
mine  which  those  early  adventurers  must  have  worked. 

"  I  wish  you  was  goin'  with  me,"  Shorty  said  wist 
fully,  at  parting.  :<  Just  because  you  got  the  Indian 
bug  ain't  no  reason  for  to  go  pokin'  into  trouble. 
They  's  no  gettin'  away  from  it,  that 's  loco  country 
you  're  bound  for.  The  hoodoo  's  sure  on  it,  from  the 
first  flip  to  the  last  call,  judgin'  from  all  you  an'  me 
has  hearn  tell  about  it." 

"  It 's  all  right,  Shorty,"  replied  Smoke.  "  I  '11  make 
the  round  trip  and  be  back  in  Dawson  in  six  weeks. 
The  Yukon  trail  is  packed,  and  the  first  hundred  miles 
or  so  of  the  Stewart  ought  to  be  packed.  Old-timers 
from  Henderson  have  told  me  a  number  of  outfits 
went  up  last  fall  after  the  freeze-up.  When  I  strike 
their  trail  I  ought  to  hit  her  up  forty  or  fifty  miles  a 


THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK     121 
day.     I  'm  likely  to  be  back  inside  a  month,  once  I  get 


across." 


:t  Yep,  once  you  get  acrost.  But  it 's  the  gettin' 
acrost  that  worries  me.  Well,  so  long,  Smoke.  Keep 
your  eyes  open  for  that  hoodoo,  that 's  all.  An'  don't 
be  ashamed  to  turn  back  if  you  don't  kill  any  meat." 

A  week  later,  Smoke  found  himself  among  the  jum 
bled  ranges  south  of  Indian  River.  On  the  divide 
from  the  Klondike  he  had  abandoned  the  sled  and 
packed  his  wolf-dogs.  The  six  big  huskies  each  car 
ried  fifty  pounds,  and  on  his  own  back  was  an  equal 
burden.  Through  the  soft  snow  he  led  the  way,  pack 
ing  it  down  under  his  snow-shoes,  and  behind,  in  single 
file,  toiled  the  dogs. 

He  loved  the  life,  the  deep  arctic  winter,  the  silent 
wilderness,  the  unending  snow-surface  unpressed  by 
the  foot  of  man.  About  him  towered  icy  peaks  un 
named  and  uncharted.  No  hunter's  camp-smoke,  ris 
ing  in  the  still  air  of  the  valleys,  ever  caught  his  eye. 
He,  alone,  moved  through  the  brooding  quiet  of  the 
tintraveled  wastes;  nor  was  he  oppressed  by  the  soli 
tude.  He  loved  it  all,  the  day's  toil,  the  bickering 
wolf-dogs,  the  making  of  the  camp  in  the  long  twi 
light,  the  leaping  stars  overhead,  and  the  flaming  pa 
geant  of  the  aurora  borealis. 

Especially  he  loved  his  camp  at  the  end  of  day,  and 
in  it  he  saw  a  picture  which  he  ever  yearned  to  paint 
and  which  he  knew  he  would  never  forget  —  a  beaten 
place  in  the  snow,  where  burned  his  fire;  his  bed  a 
couple  of  rabbit-skin  robes  spread  on  fresh-chopped 
spruce-boughs;  his  shelter  a  stretched  strip  of  canvas 


122  SMOKE  BELLEW 

that  caught  and  threw  back  the  heat  of  the  fire;  the 
blackened  coffee-pot  and  pail  resting  on  a  length  of 
log,  the  moccasins  propped  on  sticks  to  dry,  the  snow- 
shoes  up-ended  in  the  snow;  and  across  the  fire  the 
wolf-dogs  snuggling  to  it  for  the  warmth,  wistful  and 
eager,  furry  and  frost-rimed,  with  bushy  tails  curled 
protectingly  over  their  feet ;  and  all  about,  pressed 
backward  but  a  space,  the  wall  of  encircling  darkness. 

At  such  times  San  Francisco,  The  Billow,  and 
O'Hara  seemed  very  far  away,  lost  in  a  remote  past, 
shadows  of  dreams  that  had  never  happened.  He 
found  it  hard  to  believe  that  he  had  known  any  other 
life  than  this  of  the  wild,  and  harder  still  was  it  for 
him  to  reconcile  himself  to  the  fact  that  he  had  once 
dabbled  and  dawdled  in  the  Bohemian  drift  of  city 
life.  Alone,  with  no  one  to  talk  to,  he  thought  much, 
and  deeply,  and  simply.  He  was  appalled  by  the  wast 
age  of  his  city  years,  by  the  cheapness,  now,  of  the 
philosophies  of  the  schools  and  books,  of  the  clever 
cynicism  of  the  studio  and  the  editorial  room,  of  the 
cant  of  the  business  men  in  their  clubs.  They  knew 
neither  food,  nor  sleep,  nor  health ;  nor  could  they  ever 
possibly  know  the  sting  of  real  appetite,  the  goodly 
ache  of  fatigue,  nor  the  rush  of  mad  strong  blood  that 
bit  like  wine  through  all  one's  body  as  work  was  done. 

And  all  the  time  this  fine,  wise,  Spartan  Northland 
had  been  here,  and  he  had  never  known.  What  puz 
zled  him  was  that,  with  such  intrinsic  fitness,  he  had 
never  heard  the  slightest  calling  whisper,  had  not  him 
self  gone  forth  to  seek.  But  this,  too,  he  solved  in 
time. 


THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK  123 

"  Look  here,  Yellow  Face,  I  've  got  it  clear !  " 

The  dog  addressed  lifted  first  one  forefoot  and  then 
the  other  with  quick,  appeasing  movements,  curled  his 
bush  of  a  tail  about  them  again,  and  laughed  across 
the  fire. 

"  Herbert  Spencer  was  nearly  forty  before  he  caught 
the  vision  o.f  his  greatest  efficiency  and  desire.     I  'm 
none  so  slow.     I  did  n't  have  to  wait  till  I  was  thirty  gf  c*\ 
to  catch  mine.     Right  here  is  my  efficiency  and  desire.   /V"K|f 
Almost,  Yellow  Face,  do  I  wish  I  had  been  born  a     J 
wolf -boy  and  been  brother  all  my  days  to  you  and 
yours." 

For  days  he  wandered  through  a  chaos  of  canyons 
and  divides  which  did  not  yield  themselves  to  any  ra 
tional  topographical  plan.  It  was  as  if  they  had  been 
flung  there  by  some  cosmic  joker.  In  vain  he  sought 
for  a  creek  or  feeder  that  flowed  truly  south  toward 
the  McOuestion  and  the  Stewart.  Then  came  a  moun 
tain  storm  that  blew  a  blizzard  across  the  riffraff  of 
high  and  shallow  divides.  Above  timber-line,  fireless, 
for  two  days,  he  struggled  blindly  to  find  lower  levels. 
On  the  second  day  he  came  out  upon  the  rim  of  an 
enormous  palisade.  So  thickly  drove  the  snow  that 
he  could  not  see  the  base  of  the  wall,  nor  dared  he  at 
tempt  the  descent.  He  rolled  himself  in  his  robes  and 
huddled  the  dogs  about  him  in  the  depths^  of  a  snow 
drift,  but  did  not  permit  himself  to  sleep. 

In  the  morning,  the  storm  spent,  he  crawled  out  to 
investigate.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  beneath  him,  beyond 
all  mistake,  lay  a  frozen,  snow-covered  lake.  About 
it,  on  every  side,  rose  jagged  peaks.  It  answered  the 


124  SMOKE  BELLEW 

description.     Blindly,   he  had   found   Surprise   Lake. 

"  Well  named,"  he  muttered,  an  hour  later,  as  he 
came  out  upon  its  margin.  A  clump  of  aged  spruce 
was  the  only  woods.  In  his  way  to  it,  he  stumbled 
upon  three  graves,  snow-buried,  but  marked  by  hand- 
hewn  head-posts  and  undecipherable  writing.  On  the 
edge  of  the  woods  was  a  small  ramshackle. cabin.  He 
pulled  the  latch  and  entered.  In  a  corner,  on  what  had 
once  been  a  bed  of  spruce-boughs,  still  wrapped  in 
mangy  furs  that  had  rotted  to  fragments,  lay  a  skele 
ton.  The  last  visitor  to  Surprise  Lake,  was  Smoke's 
conclusion,  as  he  picked  up  a  lump  of  gold  as  large  as 
his  doubled  fist.  Beside  the  lump  was  a  pepper-can 
filled  with  nuggets  of  the  size  of  walnuts,  rough-sur 
faced,  showing  no  signs  of  wash. 

So  true  had  the  tale  run  that  Smoke  accepted  with 
out  question  that  the  source  of  the  gold  was  the  lake's 
bottom.  Under  many  feet  of  ice  and  inaccessible, 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  and  at  midday,  from 
the  rim  of  the  palisade,  he  took  a  farewell  look  back 
and  down  at  his  find. 

"It's  all  right,  Mr.  Lake,"  he  said.  "You  just 
keep  right  on  staying  there.  I  'm  coming  back  to 
drain  you  —  if  that  hoodoo  does  n't  catch  me.  I  don't 
know  how  I  got  here,  but  I  '11  know  by  the  way  I  go 
out." 

In  a  little  valley,  beside  a  frozen  stream  and  under 
beneficent  spruce-trees,  he  built  a  fire  four  days  later. 
Somewhere  in  that  white  anarchy  he  had  left  behind 
him  was  Surprise  Lake  —  somewhere,  he  knew  not 
where;  for  a  hundred  hours  of  drifting  and  struggle 


THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK  125 

through  blinding,  driving  snow  had  concealed  his 
course  from  him,  and  he  knew  not  in  what  direction 
lay  behind.  It  was  as  if  he  had  just  emerged  from  a 
nightmare.  He  was  not  sure  whether  four  days  or  a 
week  had  passed.  He  had  slept  with  the  dogs,  fought 
across  a  forgotten  number  of  shallow  divides,  followed 
the  windings  of  weird  canyons  that  ended  in  pockets, 
and  twice  had  managed  to  make  a  fire  and  thaw  out 
frozen  moose-meat.  And  here  he  was,  well  fed  and 
well  camped.  The  storm  had  passed,  and  it  had  turned 
clear  and  cold.  The  lay  of  the  land  had  again  become 
rational.  The  creek  he  was  on  was  natural  in  appear 
ance,  and  trended,  as  it  should,  toward  the  southwest. 
But  Surprise  Lake  was  as  lost  to  him  as  it  had  been  to 
all  its  seekers  in  the  past. 

Half  a  day's  journey  down  the  creek  brought  him 
to  the  valley  of  a  larger  stream  which  he  decided  was 
the  McQuestion.  Here  he  shot  a  moose,  and  once 
again  each  wolf-dog  carried  a  full  fifty-pound  pack  of 
meat.  As  he  turned  down  the  McQuestion,  he  came 
upon  a  sled-trail.  The  late  snows  had  drifted  over, 
but  underneath  it  was  well  packed  by  travel.  His  con 
clusion  was  that  two  camps  had  been  established  on 
the  McQuestion,  and  that  this  was  the  connecting  trail. 
Evidently,  Two  Cabins  had  been  found,  and  it  was  the 
lower  camp,  so  he  headed  down  the  stream. 

It  was  forty  below  zero  when  he  camped  that  night, 
and  he  fell  asleep  wondering  who  were  the  men  who 
had  rediscovered  the  Two  Cabins  and  if  he  would 
fetch  it  next  day.  At  the  first  hint  of  dawn  he  was 
under  way,  easily  following  the  half-obliterated  trail 


126  SMOKE  BRLLEW 

and  packing  the  recent  snow  with  his  webbed  shoes  so 
that  the  dogs  should  not  wallow. 

And  then  it  came,  the  unexpected,'  leaping  out  upon 
him  on  a  bend  of  the  river.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
he  heard  and  felt  simultaneously.  The  crack  of  the 
rifle  came  from  the  right,  and  the  bullet,  tearing 
through  and  across  the  shoulders  of  his  drill  parka  and 
woolen  coat,  pivoted  him  half  around  with  the  shock 
of  its  impact.  He  staggered  on  his  twisted  snow-shoes 
to  recover  balance,  and  heard  a  second  crack  of  the 
rifle.  This  time  it  was  a  clean  miss.  He  did  not  wait 
for  more,  but  plunged  across  the  snow  for  the  shelter 
ing  trees  of  the  bank  a  hundred  feet  away.  Again 
and  again  the  rifle  cracked,  and  he  was  unpleasantly 
aware  of  a  trickle  of  warm  moisture  down  his  back. 

He  climbed  the  bank,  the  dogs  floundering  behind, 
and  dodged  in  among  the  trees  and  brush.  Slipping 
out  of  his  snow-shoes,  he  wallowed  forward  at  full 
length  and  peered  cautiously  out.  Nothing  was  to  be 
seen.  Whoever  had  shot  at  him  was  lying  quiet 
among  the  trees  of  the  opposite  bank. 

"If  something  does  n't  happen  pretty  soon/'  he  mut 
tered  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  "  I  '11  have  to  sneak 
away  and  build  a  fire  or  freeze  my  feet.  Yellow 
Face,  what  'd  you  do,  lying  in  the  frost  with  circula 
tion  getting  slack  and  a  man  trying  to  plug  you?  " 

He  crawled  back  a  few  yards,  packed  down  the 
snow,  danced  a  jig  that  sent  the  blood  back  into  his 
feet,  and  managed  to  endure  another  half-hour.  Then, 
from  down  the  river,  he  heard  the  unmistakable  jingle 
of  dog-bells.  Peering  out,  he  saw  a  sled  round  the 


THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK  127 

bend.  Only  one  man  was  with  it,  straining  at  the 
gee-pole  and  urging  the  dogs  along.  The  effect  on 
Smoke  was  one  of  shock,  for  it  was  the  first  human 
he  had  seen  since  he  parted  from  Shorty  three  weeks 
before.  His  next  thought  was  of  the  potential  mur 
derer  concealed  on  the  opposite  bank. 

Without  exposing  himself,  Smoke  whistled  warn- 
ingly.  The  man  did  not  hear,  and  came  on  rapidly. 
Again,  and  more  sharply,  Smoke  whistled.  The  man 
whoaed  his  dogs,  stopped,  and  had  turned  and  faced 
Smoke  when  the  rifle  cracked.  The  instant  afterward, 
Smoke  fired  into  the  woods  in  the  direction  of  the 
sound.  The  man  on  the  river  had  been  struck  by  the 
first  shot.  The  shock  of  the  high-velocity  bullet  stag 
gered  him.  He  stumbled  awkwardly  to  the  sled,  half 
falling,  and  pulled  a  rifle  out  from  under  the  lashings. 
As  he  strove  to  raise  it  to  his  shoulder,  he  crumpled  at 
the  waist  and  sank  down  slowly  to  a  sitting,  posture  on 
the  sled.  Then,  abruptly  as  the  gun  went  off  aimlessly, 
he  pitched  backward  and  across  a  corner  of  the  sled- 
load,  so  that  Smoke  could  see  only  his  legs  and  stom 
ach. 

From  below  came  more  jingling  bells.  The  man  did 
not  move.  Around  the  bend  swung  three  sleds,  ac 
companied  by  half  a  dozen  men.  Smoke  cried  warn- 
ingly,  but  they  had  seen  the  condition  of  the  first  sled, 
and  they  dashed  on  to  it.  No  shots  came  from  the 
other  bank,  and  Smoke,  calling  his  dogs  to  follow, 
emerged  into  the  open.  There  were  exclamations  from 
the  men,  and  two  of  them,  flinging  off  the  mittens  of 
their  right  hands,  leveled  their  rifles  at  him. 


128  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Come  on,  you  red-handed  murderer,  you,"  one  of 
them,  a  black-bearded  man,  commanded.  "  An'  jest 
pitch  that  gun  of  yourn  in  the  snow." 

Smoke  hesitated,  then  dropped  his  rifle  and  came 
up  to  them. 

"  Go  through  him,  Louis,  an'  take  his  weapons," 
the  black-bearded  man  ordered. 

Louis  was  a  French-Canadian  voyageur,  Smoke  de 
cided,  as  were  four  of  the  others.  His  search  re 
vealed  only  Smoke's  hunting-knife,  which  was  appro 
priated. 

"  Now  what  have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself, 
stranger,  before  I  shoot  you  dead?  "  the  black-bearded 
man  demanded. 

"  That  you  're  making  a  mistake  if  you  think  I 
killed  that  man,"  Smoke  answered. 

A  cry  came  from  one  of  the  voyageurs.  He  had 
quested  along  the  trail  and  found  Smoke's  tracks 
where  he  had  left  it  to  take  refuge  on  the  bank.  The 
man  explained  the  nature  of  his  find. 

"  What  'd  you  kill  Joe  Kinade  for?  "  he  of  the  black 
beard  asked. 

"  I  tell  you  I  did  n't,"  Smoke  began. 

"  Aw,  what's  the  good  of  talkin'  ?  We  got  you  red- 
handed.  Right  up  there  's  where  you  left  the  trail 
when  you  heard  him  comin'.  You  laid  among  the 
trees  an'  bushwhacked  him.  A  short  shot.  You 
could  n't  'a'  missed.  Pierre,  go  an'  get  that  gun  he 
dropped." 

"  You  might  let  me  tell  what  happened,"  Smoke  ob 
jected. 


The  man  on  the  river  had  been  struck  by  the  first  shot. 


THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK  131 

"  You  shut  up,"  the  man  snarled  at  him.  "  I 
reckon  your  gun  '11  tell  the  story." 

All  the  men  examined  Smoke's  rifle,  ejecting  and 
counting  the  cartridges,  and  examining  the  barrel  at 
muzzle  and  breech. 

"  One  shot,"  Blackbeard  concluded. 

Pierre,  with  nostrils  that  quivered  and  distended 
like  a  deer's,  sniffed  at  the  breech.  "  Him  one  fresh 
shot,"  he  said. 

"  The  bullet  entered  his  back,"  Smoke  said.  "  He 
was  facing  me  when  he  was  shot.  You  see,  it  came 
from  the  other  bank." 

Blackbeard  considered  this  proposition  for  a  scant 
second,  and  shook  his  head.  "  Nope.  It  won't  do. 
Turn  him  around  to  face  the  other  bank — that 's  how 
you  whopped  him  in  the  back.  Some  of  you  boys  run 
up  an'  down  the  trail,  and  see  if  you  can  see  any 
tracks  making  for  the  other  bank." 

Their  report  was  that  on  that  side  the  snow  was 
unbroken.  Blackbeard,  bending  over  the  dead  man, 
straightened  up  with  a  wooly,  furry  wad  in  his  hand. 
Shredding  this,  he  found  imbedded  in  the  center  the 
bullet  which  had  perforated  the  body.  Its  nose  was 
spread  to  the  size  of  a  half-dollar,  its  butt-end,  steel- 
jacketed,  was  undamaged.  He  compared  it  with  a 
cartridge  from  Smoke's  belt. 

"  That 's  plain  enough  evidence,  stranger,  to  satisfy 
a  blind  man.  It's  soft-nosed  an'  steel- jacketed; 
yourn  is  soft-nosed  and  steel- jacketed.  It 's  a  thirty- 
thirty;  yourn  is  thirty-thirty.  It's  manufactured  by 
the  J.  &  T.  Arms  Company;  yourn  is  manufactured 


1 32  SMOKE  BELLEW 

by  the  J.  &  T.  Arms  Company.  Now  you  come  along, 
an'  we  '11  go  over  to  the  bank  an'  see  jest  how  you 
done  it." 

"  I  was  bushwhacked  myself,"  Smoke  said.  "  Look 
at  the  hole  in  my  parka." 

While  Blackbeard  examined  it,  one  of  the  voy- 
ageurs  threw  open  the  breech  of  the  dead  man's  gun. 
It  was  patent  to  all  that  it  had  been  fired  once.  The 
empty  cartridge  wTas  still  in  the  chamber. 

"  A  damn  shame  poor  Joe  did  n't  get  you,"  Black- 
beard  said  bitterly.  "  But  he  did  pretty  well  with  a 
hole  like  that  in  him.  Come  on,  you." 

"  Search  the  other  bank  first,"  Smoke  urged. 

"  You  shut  up  an'  come  on,  an'  let  the  facts  do  the 
talkin'." 

They  left  the  trail  at  the  same  spot  that  he  had,  and 
followed  it  up  along  the  bank  and  then  in  among  the 
trees. 

"  Him  dance  that  place  keep  him  feet  warm,"  Louis 
pointed  out.  "  That  place  him  crawl  on  belly.  That 
place  him  put  one  elbow  w'en  him  shoot." 

"  And  there 's  the  empty  cartridge  he  done  it 
with !  "  was  Blackbeard's  discovery.  "  Boys,  there  's 
only  one  thing  to  do." 

"  You  might  ask  me  how  I  came  to  fire  that  shot," 
Smoke  interrupted. 

"  An'  I  might  knock  your  teeth  into  your  gullet  if 
you  butt  in  again.  You  can  answer  them  questions 
later  on.  Now,  boys,  we  're  decent  an'  law-abidin', 
an'  we  got  to  handle  this  right  an'  regular.  How  far 
do  you  reckon  we  've  come,  Pierre?  " 


THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK  133 

"  Twenty  mile,  I  t'ink,  for  sure." 

"  All  right.  We  '11  cache  the  outfit  an'  run  him  an' 
poor  Joe  back  to  Two  Cabins.  I  reckon  we  've  seen 
an'  can  testify  to  what  '11  stretch  his  neck." 

It  was  three  hours  after  dark  when  the  dead  man, 
Smoke,  and  his  captors  arrived  at  Two  Cabins.  By 
the  starlight  Smoke  could  make  out  a  dozen  or  more 
recently  built  cabins  snuggling  about  a  larger  and 
older  cabin  on  a  flat  by  the  river  bank.  Thrust  in 
side  this  older  cabin,  he  found  it  tenanted  by  a  young 
giant  of  a  man,  his  wife,  and  an  old  blind  man.  The 
woman,  whom  her  husband  called  "  Lucy,"  was  her 
self  a  strapping  creature  of  the  frontier  type.  The 
old  man,  as  Smoke  learned  afterward,  had  been  a  trap 
per  on  the  Stewart  for  years,  and  had  gone  finally 
blind  the  winter  before.  The  camp  of  Two  Cabins, 
he  was  also  to  learn,  had  been  made  the  previous  fall 
by  a  dozen  men  who  arrived  in  half  as  many  poling- 
boats  loaded  with  provisions.  Here  they  had  found 
the  blind  trapper,  on  the  site  of  Two  Cabins,  and  about 
his  cabin  they  had  built  their  own.  Later  arrivals, 
mushing  up  the  ice  with  dog-teams,  had  tripled  the 
population.  There  was  plenty  of  meat  in  camp,  and 
good  lowT-pay  dirt  had  been  discovered  and  was  being 
worked. 

In  five  minutes,  all  the  men  of  Two  Cabins  were 
jammed  into  the  room.  Smoke,  shoved  off  into  a  cor 
ner,  ignored  and  scowled  at,  his  hands  and  feet  tied 
with  thongs  of  moose-hide,  looked  on.  Thirty-eight 
men  he  counted,  a  wild  and  husky  crew,  all  frontiers 
men  of  the  States  or  voyageurs  from  upper  Canada, 


134  SMOKE  BELLEW 

His  captors  told  the  tale  over  and  over,  each  the  cen 
ter  of  an  excited  and  wrathful  group.  There  were 
mutterings  of:  "Lynch  him  now!  Why  wait?" 
And,  once,  a  big  Irishman  was  restrained  only  by  force 
from  rushing  upon  the  helpless  prisoner  and  giving 
him  a  beating. 

It  was  while  counting  the  men  that  Smoke  caught 
sight  of  a  familiar  face.  It  was  Breck,  the  man 
whose  boat  Smoke  had  run  through  the  rapids.  He 
wondered  why  the  other  did  not  come  and  speak  to 
him,  but  himself  gave  no  sign  of  recognition.  Later, 
when  with  shielded  face  Breck  passed  him  a  wink, 
Smoke  understood. 

Blackbeard,  whom  Smoke  heard  called  Eli  Harding, 
ended  the  discussion  as  to  whether  or  not  the  prisoner 
should  be  immediately  lynched.  "  Hold  on ! "  he 
roared.  "  Keep  your  shirts  on.  That  man  belongs 
to  me.  I  caught  him  an'  I  brought  him  here.  D'  ye 
think  I  brought  him  all  the  way  here  to  be  lynched? 
Not  on  your  life.  I  could  'a'  done  that  myself  when  I 
found  him.  I  brought  him  here  for  a  fair  an'  impar 
tial  trial,  an'  by  God,  a  fair  an'  impartial  trial  he  's 
goin'  to  get.  He  's  tied  up  safe  an'  sound.  Chuck 
him  in  a  bunk  till  morning,  an'  we  '11  hold  the  trial 
right  here." 

Smoke  woke  up.  A  draft  that  possessed  all  the 
rigidity  of  an  icicle  was  boring  into  the  front  of  his 
shoulders  as  he  lay  on  his  side  facing  the  wall.  When 
he  had  been  tied  into  the  bunk  there  had  been  no  such 
draft,  and  now  the  outside  air,  driving  into  the  heated 
atmosphere  of  the  cabin  with  the  pressure  of  fifty  be- 


THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK  135 

low  zero,  was  sufficient  advertisement  that  some  one 
from  without  had  pulled  away  the  moss-chinking  be 
tween  the  logs.  He  squirmed  as  far  as  his  bonds 
would  permit,  then  craned  his  neck  forward  until  his 
lips  just  managed  to  reach  the  crack. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  whispered. 

"  Breck,"  came  the  almost  inaudible  answer.  "  Be 
careful  you  don't  make  a  noise.  I  'm  going  to  pass  a 
knife  in  to  you." 

"  No  good,"  Smoke  said.  "  I  could  n't  use  it.  My 
hands  are  tied  behind  me  and  made  fast  to  the  leg  of 
the  bunk.  Besides,  you  could  n't  get  a  knife  through 
that  crack.  But  something  must  be  done.  Those 
fellows  are  of  a  temper  to  hang  me,  and  of  course 
you  know  I  did  n't  kill  that  man." 

"  It  was  n't  necessary  to  mention  it,  Smoke.  And 
if  you  did  you  had  your  reasons.  Which  is  n't  the 
point  at  all.  I  want  to  get  you  out  of  this.  It 's  a 
tough  bunch  of  men  here.  You  've  seen  them. 
They  're  shut  off  from  the  world,  and  they  make  and 
enforce  their  own  law — 'by  miners'  meeting,  you 
know.  They  handled  two  men  already  —  both  grub- 
thieves.  .  One  they  hiked  from  camp  without  an  ounce 
of  grub  and  no  matches.  He  made  about  forty  miles 
and  lasted  a  couple  of  days  before  he  froze  stiff.  Two 
weeks  ago  they  hiked  the  second  man.  They  gave 
him  his  choice :  no  grub,  or  ten  lashes  for  each  day's 
ration.  He  stood  for  forty  lashes  before  he  fainted. 
And  now  they  've  got  you,  and  every  last  one  is  con 
vinced  you  killed  Kinade." 

"  The  man  who  killed  Kinade  shot  at  me,  too.     His 


136  SMOKE  BELLEW 

bullet  broke  the  skin  on  my  shoulder.  Get  them  to 
delay  the  trial  till  some  one  goes  up  and  searches  the 
bank  where  the  murderer  hid." 

"  No  use.  They  take  the  evidence  of  Harding  and 
the  five  Frenchmen  with  him.  Besides,  they  have  n't 
had  a  hanging  yet,  and  they  're  keen  for  it.  You  see, 
things  have  been  pretty  monotonous.  They  have  n't 
located  anything  big,  and  they  got  tired  of  hunting 
for  Surprise  Lake.  They  did  some  stampeding  the 
first  part  of  the  winter,  but  they  've  got  over  that  now. 
Scurvy  is  beginning  to  show  up  among  them,  too, 
and  they  're  just  ripe  for  excitement." 

"  And  it  looks  like  I  '11  furnish  it,"  was  Smoke's 
comment.  "  Say,  Breck,  how  did  you  ever  fall  in 
with  such  a  God-forsaken  bunch?" 

"  After  I  got  the  claims  at  Squaw  Creek  opened  up 
and  some  men  to  working,  I  came  up  here  by  way  of 
the  Stewart,  hunting  for  Two  Cabins.  They  'd 
beaten  me  to  it,  so  I  've  been  higher  up  the  Stewart. 
Just  got  back  yesterday  out  of  grub." 

"Find  anything?" 

"  Nothing  much.  But  I  think  I  've  got  a  hydraulic 
proposition  that  '11  work  big  when  the  country  's  opened 
up.  It 's  that,  or  a  gold-dredger." 

"  Hold  on,"  Smoke  interrupted.  "  Wait  a  minute. 
Let  me  think." 

He  was  very  much  aware  of  the  snores  of  the 
sleepers  as  he  pursued  the  idea  that  had  flashed  into 
his  mind. 

"  Say,  Breck,  have  they  opened  up  the  meat-packs 
my  dogs  carried  ? "  he  asked, 


THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK  137 

"  A  couple.  I  was  watching.  They  put  them  in 
Harding's  cache." 

"  Did  they  find  anything?  " 

"  Meat." 

"  Good.  You  Ye  got  to  get  into  the  brown-canvas 
pack  that 's  patched  with  moose-hide.  You  '11  find 
a  few  pounds  of  lumpy  gold.  You  Ye  never  seen 
gold  like  it  in  the  country,  nor  has  anybody  else. 
Here  's  what  you  YTe  got  to  do.  Listen." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  fully  instructed  and  com 
plaining  that  his  toes  were  freezing,  Breck  went  away. 
Smoke,  his  own  nose  and  one  cheek  frosted  by  prox 
imity  to  the  chink,  rubbed  them  against  the  blankets 
for  half  an  hour  before  the  blaze  and  bite  of  the 
returning  blood  assured  him  of  the  safety  of  his  flesh. 

"  My  mind  's  made  up  right  now.  There  ain't  no 
doubt  but  what  he  killed  Kinade.  We  heard  the 
whole  thing  last  night.  What 's  the  good  of  goin' 
over  it  again?  I  vote  guilty." 

In  such  fashion  Smoke's  trial  began.  The  speaker, 
a  loose- jointed,  hard-rock  man  from  Colorado,  mani 
fested  irritation  and  disgust  when  Harding  set  his 
suggestion  aside,  demanded  the  proceedings  should 
be  regular,  and  nominated  one  Shunk  Wilson  for 
judge  and  chairman  of  the  meeting.  The  population 
of  Two  Cabins  constituted  the  jury,  though,  after 
some  discussion,  the  woman,  Lucy,  was  denied  the 
right  to  vote  on  Smoke's  guilt  or  innocence. 

While  this  was  going  on,  Smoke,  jammed  into  a  cor 
ner  on  a  bunk,  overheard  a  whispered  conversation 
between  Breck  and  a  miner. 


138  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"You  havn't  fifty  pounds  of  flour  you'll  sell?" 
Breck  queried. 

"  You  ain't  got  the  dust  to  pay  the  price  I  'm 
askin',"  was  the  reply. 

"  I  '11  give  you  two  hundred." 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"  Three  hundred.     Three  fifty." 

At  four  hundred,  the  man  nodded,  and  said,  "  Come 
on  over  to  my  cabin  an'  weigh  out  the  dust." 

The  two  squeezed  their  way  to  the  door  and  slipped 
out.  After  a  few  minutes  Breck  returned  alone. 

Harding  was  testifying  when  Smoke  saw  the  door 
shoved  open  slightly,  and  in  the  crack  appear  the  face 
of  the  man  who  had  sold  the  flour.  He  was  grimac 
ing  and  beckoning  emphatically  to  some  one  inside, 
who  arose  from  near  the  stove  and  started  to  work 
toward  the  door. 

u  Where  are  you  goin',  Sam?"  Shunk  Wilson  de 
manded. 

"  I  '11  be  back  in  a  jiffy,"  Sam  explained.  "  I  jes' 
got  to  go." 

Smoke  was  permitted  to  question  the  witnesses,  and 
he  was  in  the  middle  of  the  cross-examination  of 
Harding  when  from  without  came  the  whining  of 
dogs  in  harness  and  the  grind  and  churn  of  sled-run 
ners.  Somebody  near  the  door  peeped  out. 

"  It 's  Sam  an'  his  pardner  an'  a  dog-team  hell-bent 
down  the  trail  for  Stewart  River,"  the  man  reported. 

Nobody  spoke  for  a  long  half -minute,  but  men 
glanced  significantly  at  one  another,  and  a  general  rest- 
lesness  pervaded  the  packed  room.  Out  of  the  cor- 


THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK  139 

ner  of  his  eye,  Smoke  caught  a  glimpse  of  Breck, 
Lucy,  and  her  husband  whispering  together. 

"  Come  on,  you/'  Shunk  Wilson  said  gruffly  to 
Smoke.  "  Cut  this  questionin'  short.  We  know  what 
you  're  tryin'  to  prove  —  that  the  other  bank  wa'n't 
searched.  The  witness  admits  it.  We  admit  it.  It 
wa'n't  necessary.  No  tracks  led  to  that  bank.  The 
snow  wa'n't  broke." 

"  There  was  a  man  on  the  other  bank  just  the 
same,"  Smoke  insisted. 

"  That 's  too  thin  for  skatin',  young  man.  There 
ain't  many  of  us  on  the  McQtiestion,  an'  we  got  every 
man  accounted  for." 

"  Who  was  the  man  you  hiked  out  of  camp  two 
weeks  ago  ?  "  Smoke  asked. 

"  Alonzo  Miramar.  He  was  a  Mexican.  What 's 
that  grub-thief  got  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  Nothing,  except  that  you  have  n't  accounted  for 
him,  Mr.  Judge." 

"  He  went  down  river,  not  up." 

"  How  do  you  know  where  he  went?" 

"  Saw  him  start." 

"  And  that 's  all  you  know  of  what  became  of  him?  " 

"  No,  it  ain't,  young  man.  I  know,  we  all  know, 
he  had  four  days'  grub  an'  no  gun  to  shoot  meat  with. 
If  he  did  n't  make  the  settlement  on  the  Yukon  he  'd 
croaked  long  before  this." 

"  I  suppose  you  've  got  all  the  guns  in  this  part  of 
the  country  accounted  for,  too,"  Smoke  observed 
pointedly. 

Shunk  Wilson  was  angry.     "  You'd  think  I  was  the 


140  SMOKE  BELLEW 

prisoner  the  way  you  slam  questions  into  me.  Now 
then,  come  on  with  the  next  witness.  Where  's  French 
Louis?" 

While  French  Louis  was  shoving  forward,  Lucy 
opened  the  door. 

"  Where  you  goin'  ?  "  Shunk  Wilson  shouted. 

"  I  reckon  I  don't  have  to  stay,"  she  answered  de 
fiantly.  "  I  ain't  got  no  vote,  an'  besides,  my  cabin  's 
so  jammed  up  I  can't  breathe." 

In  a  few  minutes  her  husband  followed.  The  closing 
of  the  door  was  the  first  warning  the  judge  received 
of  it. 

[<  Who  was  that?  "  he  interrupted  Pierre's  narrative 
to  ask. 

"  Bill  Peabody,"  somebody  spoke  up.  "  Said  he 
wanted  to  ask  his  wife  something  and  was  coming 
right  back." 

Instead  of  Bill,  it  was  Lucy  who  reentered,  took 
off  her  furs,  and  resumed  her  place  by  the  stove. 

"  I  reckon  we  don't  need  to  hear  the  rest  of  the  wit 
nesses,"  was  Shunk  Wilson's  decision,  when  Pierre 
had  finished.  "  We  know  they  can  only  testify  to  the 
same  facts  we  've  already  heard.  Say,  Sorensen,  you 
go  an'  bring  Bill  Peabody  back.  We  '11  be  votin'  a 
verdict  pretty  short.  Now,  stranger,  you  can  get  up 
an'  say  your  say  concernin'  what  happened.  In  the 
meantime,  we  '11  just  be  savin'  delay  by  passin'  around 
the  two  rifles,  the  ammunition,  an'  the  bullet  that  done 
thekillin'." 

Midway  in  his  story  of  how  he  had  arrived  in  that 
part  of  the  country,  and  at  the  point  in  his  narrative 


THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK  141 

where  he  described  his  own  ambush  and  how  he  had 
fled  to  the  bank,  Smoke  was  interrupted  by  the  indig 
nant  Shunk  Wilson. 

'  Young  man,  what  sense  is  there  in  you  testifyin' 
that  way?  You  're  just  takin'  up  valuable  time.  Of 
course  you  got  the  right  to  lie  to  save  your  neck,  but 
we  ain't  goin'  to  stand  for  such  foolishness.  The 
rifle,  the  ammunition,  an'  the  bullet  that  killed  Joe 
Kinade  is  against  you.  What 's  that  ?  Open  the 
door,  somebody !  " 

The  frost  rushed  in,  taking  form  and  substance  in 
the  heat  of  the  room,  while  through  the  open  door 
came  the  whining  of  dogs  that  decreased  rapidly  with 
distance. 

"  It 's  Sorensen  an'  Peabody,"  some  one  cried, 
"  a-throwin'  the  whip  into  the  dawgs  an'  headin'  down 
river  I  " 

"Now  what  the — ?"  Shunk  Wjlson  paused 
with  dropped  jaw,  and  glared  at  Lucy.  "  I  reckon 
you  can  explain,  Mrs.  Peabody." 

She  tossed  her  head  and  compressed  her  lips,  and 
Shunk  Wilson's  wrathful  and  suspicious  gaze  passed 
and  rested  on  Breck. 

"  An'  I  reckon  that  newcomer  you  've  been  chin 
ning  with  could  explain  if  he  had  a  mind  to." 

Breck,  now  very  uncomfortable,  found  all  eyes 
centered  on  him. 

"  Sam  was  chewing  the  rag  with  him,  too,  before 
he  lit  out,"  some  one  said. 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Breck,"  Shunk  Wilson  continued. 
"  You  've  ben  interruptin'  proceedings,  and  you  got 


142  SMOKE  BELLEW 

to  explain  the  meanin'  of  it.  What  was  you  chinnin' 
about  ?" 

Breck  cleared  his  throat  timidly  and  replied,  "  I 
was  just  trying  to  buy  some  grub." 

"What  with?" 

"Dust,  of  course." 

"  Where  'd  you  get  it?" 

Breck  did  not  answer. 

"  He  's  been  snoopin'  round  up  the  Stewart,"  a  man 
volunteered.  "  I  run  across  his  camp  a  week  ago 
when  I  was  huntin'.  An'  I  want  to  tell  you  he  was 
almighty  secretions  about  it." 

"  The  dust  did  n't  come  from  there,"  Breck  said. 
"  That 's  only  a  low-grade  hydraulic  proposition." 

"  Bring  your  poke  here  an'  let 's  see  your  dust," 
Wilson  commanded. 

"  I  tell  you  it  did  n't  come  from  there." 

"  Let 's  see  it,  just  the  same." 

Breck  made  as  if  to  refuse,  but  all  about  him  were 
menacing  faces.  Reluctantly,  he  fumbled  in  his  coat 
pocket.  In  the  act  of  drawing  forth  a  pepper-can,  it 
rattled  against  what  was  evidently  a  hard  object. 

"Fetch  it  all  out!"  Shunk  Wilson  thundered. 

And  out  came  the  big  nugget,  fist-size,  yellow  as  no 
gold  any  onlooker  had  ever  seen.  Shunk  Wilson 
gasped.  Half  a  dozen,  catching  one  glimpse,  made 
a  break  for  the  door.  They  reached  it  at  the  same 
moment,  and,  with  cursing  and  scuffling,  jammed  and 
pivoted  through.  The  judge  emptied  the  contents  of 
the  pepper-can  on  the  table,  and  the  sight  of  the  rough 
lump-gold  sent  half  a  dozen  more  toward  the  door. 


THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK  143 

"  Where  are  you  goin'  ?  "  Eli  Harding  asked,  as 
Shunk  started  to  follow. 

"  For  my  dogs,  of  course." 

"  Ain't  you  goin'  to  hang  him  ?  " 

"  It  'd  take  too  much  time  right  now.  He  '11  keep 
till  we  get  back,  so  I  reckon  this  court  is  adjourned. 
This  ain't  no  place  for  lingerinV 

Harding  hesitated.  He  glanced  savagely  at  Smoke, 
saw  Pierre  beckoning  to  Louis  from  the  doorway,  took 
one  last  look  at  the  lump-gold  on  the  table,  and  de 
cided. 

"  No  use  you  tryin'  to  get  away,"  he  flung  back  over 
his  shoulder.  "  Besides,  I  'm  goin'  to  borrow  your 
dogs." 

"  What  is  it?  —  another  one  of  them  blamed  stam 
pedes?"  the  old  blind  trapper  asked  in  a  queer  and 
petulant  falsetto,  as  the  cries  of  men  and  dogs  and  the 
grind  of  the  sleds  swept  the  silence  of  the  room. 

"  It  sure  is,"  Lucy  answered.  "  An'  I  never  seen 
gold  like  it.  Feel  that,  ole  man." 

She  put  the  big  nugget  in  his  hand.  He  was  but 
slightly  interested. 

"  It  was  a  good  fur-country,"  he  complained,  "  be 
fore  them  danged  miners  come  in  an'  scared  back  the 
game." 

The  door  opened,  and  Breck  entered.  "  Well,"  he 
said,  "  we  four  are  all  that  are  left  in  camp.  It 's 
forty  miles  to  the  Stewart  by  the  cut-off  I  broke,  and 
the  fastest  of  them  can't  make  the  round  trip  in  less 
than  five  or  six  days.  But  it 's  time  you  pulled  out, 
Smoke,  just  the  same." 


144  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Breck  drew  his  hunting-knife  across  the  other's 
bonds,  and  glanced  at  the  woman.  "  I  hope  you  don't 
object?"  he  said,  with  significant  politeness. 

"  Go  on,  an'  don't  mind  me,"  Lucy  answered.  "  If 
I  ain't  good  enough  to  hang  a  man,  I  ain't  good  enough 
to  hold  him." 

Smoke  stood  up,  rubbing  his  wrists  where  the 
thongs  had  impeded  the  circulation. 

"  I  've  got  a  pack  all  ready  for  you,"  Breck  said. 
"  Ten  days'  grub,  blankets,  matches,  tobacco,  an  ax, 
and  a  rifle." 

"  Go  to  it,"  Lucy  encouraged.  "  Hit  the  high 
places,  stranger.  Beat  it  as  fast  as  God  '11  let  you." 

"  I  'm  going  to  have  a  square  meal  before  I  start," 
Smoke  said.  "  And  when  I  start  it  will  be  up  the  Mc- 
Question,  not  down.  I  'm  going  to  search  that  other 
bank  for  the  man  that  really  did  the  killing." 

"  If  you  '11  listen  to  me,  you  '11  head  down  for  the 
Stewart  and  the  Yukon,"  Breck  objected.  "  When 
this  gang  gets  back  it  '11  be  seeing  red." 

Smoke  laughed  and  shook  his  head.  "  I  can't 
jump  this  country,  Breck.  I  've  got  interests  here. 
I  've  found  Surprise  Lake.  That 's  where  that  gold 
came  from.  Besides,  they  took  my  dogs,  and  I  've 
got  to  wait  to  get  them  back.  Also,  I  know  what  I  'm 
about.  There  was  a  man  hidden  on  that  bank.  He 
came  pretty  close  to  emptying  his  magazine  at  me." 

Half  an  hour  afterward,  with  a  big  plate  of  moose- 
steak  before  him  and  a  big  mug  of  coffee  at  his  lips, 
Smoke  half  started  up  from  his  seat.  He  had  heard 
the  sounds  first.  Lucy  threw  open  the  door. 


THE  MAN  ON  THE  OTHER  BANK  145 

"  Hello,  Spike ;  hello,  Methody,"  she  greeted  the 
two  frost-rimed  men  who  were  bending  over  the  bur 
den  on  their  sled. 

"  We  just  come  down  from  Upper  Camp,"  one  said, 
as  the  pair  staggered  into  the  room  with  a  fur- 
wrapped  object  which  they  handled  with  exceeding 
gentleness.  "  An'  this  is  what  we  found  by  the  way. 
He  's  all  in,  I  guess." 

"  Put  him  in  the  rear  bunk  there,"  Lucy  said.  She 
bent  over  and  pulled  back  the  furs,  disclosing  a  face 
composed  principally  of  large,  staring,  black  eyes  and 
of  skin,  dark  and  scabbed  by  repeated  frost-bite,  tightly 
stretched  across  the  bones. 

"If  it  ain't  Alonzo!"  she  cried.  "You  pore, 
starved  devil !  " 

"  That 's  the  man  on  the  other  bank,"  Smoke  said 
in  an  undertone  to  Breck. 

"  We  found  it  raidin'  a  cache  that  Harding  must 
'a'  made,"  one  of  the  men  was  explaining.  "  He  was 
eatin'  raw  flour  an'  frozen  bacon,  an'  when  we  got 
'm  he  was  cryin'  an'  squealin'  like  a  hawg.  Look  at 
him !  He 's  all  starved,  an'  most  of  him  frozen. 
He  '11  kick  at  any  moment." 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  the  furs  had  been  drawn 
over  the  face  of  the  still  form  in  the  bunk,  Smoke 
turned  to  Lucy.  "  If  you  don't  mind,  Mrs.  Peabody, 
I  '11  have  another  whack  at  that  steak.  Make  it  thick 
and  not  so  well  done.  I  'm  a  meat-eater,  I  am." 


VI 

THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE 

'  TLJUH !     Get  onto  the  glad  rags !  " 
•••  •*•     Shorty  surveyed  his  partner  with  simulated  dis 
approval,  and  Smoke,  vainly  attempting  to  rub  the 
wrinkles  out  of  the  pair  of  trousers  he  had  just  put 
on,  was  irritated. 

"  They  sure  fit  you  close  for  a  second-hand  buy," 
Shorty  went  on.  "  What  was  the  tax?  " 

"  One  hundred  and  fifty  for  the  suit,"  Smoke  an 
swered.  "  The  man  was  nearly  my  own  size.  I 
thought  it  was  remarkably  reasonable.  What  are  you 
kicking  about  ?  " 

"Who?  Me?  Oh,  nothin'.  I  was  just  thinkin' 
it  was  goin'  some  for  a  meat-eater  that  hit  Dawson 
in  an  ice- jam,  with  no  grub,  one  suit  of  underclothes, 
a  pair  of  mangy  moccasins,  an'  overalls  that  looked 
like  they  'd  been  through  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus. 
Pretty  gay  front,  pardner.  Say?" 

"  What  do  you  want  now?  "  Smoke  demanded  tes 
tily. 

"What's  her  name?" 

"  There  is  n't  any  her,  my  friend.  I  'm  to  have 
dinner  at  Colonel  Bowie's,  if  you  want  to  know.  The 
trouble  with  you,  Shorty,  is  you  're  envious  because 
I  'm  going  into  high  society  and  you  're  not  invited." 

146 


THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE   147 

"  Ain't  you  some  late  ?  "  Shorty  queried. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  For  dinner.  They  '11  be  eatin'  supper  when  you 
get  there." 

Smoke  was  about  to  explain  with  crudely  elaborate 
sarcasm  when  he  caught  the  twinkle  in  the  other's 
eye.  He  went  on  dressing,  with  fingers  that  had  lost 
their  deftness,  tying  a  Windsor  tie  in  a  bow-knot  at 
the  throat  of  his  soft  cotton  shirt. 

"  Wisht  I  had  n't  sent  all  my  starched  shirts  to  the 
laundry,"  Shorty  murmured  sympathetically.  "  I 
might  'a'  fitted  you  out." 

By  this  time  Smoke  was  straining  at  a  pair  of  shoes. 
The  woolen  socks  were  too  thick  to  go  into  them.  He 
looked  appealingly  at  Shorty,  who  shook  his  head. 

"  Nope.  If  I  had  thin  ones  I  would  n't  lend  'em 
to  you.  Back  to  the  moccasins,  pardner.  You  'd 
sure  freeze  your  toes  in  skimpy-fangled  gear  like 
that." 

"  I  paid  fifteen  dollars  for  them,  second  hand," 
Smoke  lamented. 

"  I  reckon  they  wron't  be  a  man  not  in  moccasins." 

"  But  there  are  to  be  women,  Shorty.  I  'm  going 
to  sit  down  and  eat  with  real  live  women — Mrs. 
Bowie,  and  several  others,  so  the  colonel  told  me." 

:(  Well,  moccasins  won't  spoil  their  appetite  none," 
was  Shorty's  comment.  "  Wonder  what  the  colonel 
wants  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  unless  he  's  heard  about  my  find 
ing  Surprise  Lake.  It  will  take  a  fortune  to  drain  it, 
and  the  Gnggenheims  are  out  for  investment." 


148  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Reckon  that 's  it.  That  's  right,  stick  to  the  moc 
casins.  Gee!  That  coat  is  sure  wrinkled,  an'  it  fits 
you  a  mite  too  swift.  Just  peck  around  at  your  vit- 
tles.  If  you  eat  hearty  you  '11  bust  through.  An'  if 
them  women  folks  gets  to  droppin'  handkerchiefs,  just 
let  'em  lay.  Don't  do  any  pickin'  up.  Whatever  you 
do,  don't." 

As  became  a  high-salaried  expert  and  the  repre 
sentative  of  the  great  house  of  Guggenheim,  Colonel 
Bowie  lived  in  one  of  the  most  magnificent  cabins  in 
Dawson.  And  there  Smoke  met  the  social  elect  of 
Dawson  —  not  the  mere  pick-handle  millionaires,  but 
the  ultra-cream  of  a  mining  city  whose  population 
had  been  recruited  from  all  the  world  —  men  like 
Warburton  Jones,  the  explorer  and  writer;  Captain 
Consadine,  of  the  Mounted  Police;  Haskell,  gold  com 
missioner  of  the  Northwest  Territory;  and  Baron  Von 
Schroeder,  an  emperor's  favorite  with  an  international 
dueling  reputation.  And  here,  dazzling  in  evening 
gown,  he  met  Joy  Gastell,  whom  hitherto  he  had  en 
countered  only  on  trail,  befurred  and  moccasined.  At 
dinner  he  found  himself  beside  her. 

"  I  feel  like  a  fish  out  of  water,"  he  confessed. 
"  All  you  folks  are  so  real  grand,  you  know.  Be 
sides,  I  never  dreamed  such  Oriental  luxury  existed 
in  the  Klondike.  Look  at  Von  Schroeder  there. 
He  's  actually  got  a  dinner-jacket,  and  Consadine  's 
got  a  starched  shirt.  I  noticed  he  wore  moccasins 
just  the  same.  How  do  you  like  my  outfit?"  He 
moved  his  shoulders  about  as  if  preening  himself  for 
Joy's  approval. 


THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE   149 

"  It  looks  as  if  you  'd  grown  stout  since  you  came 
over  the  pass,"  she  laughed. 

"  Wrong.     Guess  again." 

"  It 's  somebody  else's." 

'  You  win.  I  bought  it  for  a  price  from  one  of 
the  clerks  at  the  A.  C.  Company." 

"  It 's  a  shame  clerks  are  so  narrow-shouldered," 
she  sympathized.  "  And  you  have  n't  told  me  what 
you  think  of  my  outfit." 

"  I  can't,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  out  of  breath.  I  've 
been  living  on  trail  too  long.  This  sort  of  thing  comes 
to  me  with  a  shock,  you  know.  I  'd  quite  forgotten 
that  women  have  arms  and  shoulders.  To-morrow 
morning,  like  my  friend  Shorty,  I  '11  wake  up  and 
know  it  's  all  a  dream.  Now  the  last  time  I  saw  you 
on  Squaw  Creek  — " 

"  I  was  just  a  squaw,"  she  broke  in. 

"  I  had  n't  intended  to  say  that.  I  \vas  remember 
ing  that  it  was  on  Squaw  Creek  that  I  discovered  you 
had  feet." 

"  And  I  can  never  forget  that  you  saved  them  for 
me,"  she  said.  "  I  Ve  been  wanting  to  see  you  ever 
since,  to  thank  you."  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 
deprecatingly.  "  And  that 's  why  you  are  here  to 
night." 

'  You  asked  the  colonel  to  invite  me  ?  " 
"  No ;  Mrs.  Bowie.     And  I  asked  her  to  let  me  have 
you  at  table.     And  here  's  my  chance.     Everybody  's 
talking.     Listen.     You  know  Mono  Creek?" 
"  Yes." 
"  It  has  turned  out  rich,  dreadfully  rich.     They  es- 


ISO  SMOKE  BELLE W 

timated    the    claims    as    worth    a   million    and    more 
apiece.     It  was  only  located  the  other  day." 

"  I  remember  the  stampede." 

"  Well,  the  whole  creek  was  staked  to  the  sky-line, 
and  all  the  feeders,  too.  And  yet,  right  now,  on  the 
main  creek,  Number  Three  below  Discovery  is  unre 
corded.  The  creek  was  so  far  away  from  Dawson 
that  the  commissioner  allowed  sixty  days  for  record 
ing  after  location.  Every  claim  was  recorded  except 
Number  Three  below.  It  was  staked  by  Cyrus  John 
son.  And  that  was  all.  Cyrus  Johnson  has  disap 
peared,  and  in  six  days  the  time  for  recording  will  be 
up.  Then  the  man  who  stakes  it,  and  reaches  Daw- 
son  first  and  records  it,  gets  it." 

"  A  million  dollars,"  Smoke  murmured. 

"  Gilchrist,  who  has  the  next  claim  below,  has  got 
six  hundred  dollars  in  a  single  pan  of  bedrock.  He  's 
burned  one  hole  do\vn.  And  the  claim  on  the  other 
side  is  even  richer.  I  know." 

"But  why  doesn't  everybody  know?"  Smoke 
queried  skeptically. 

"  They  're  beginning  to  know.  They  kept  it  secret 
for  a  long  time,  and  it  is  only  now  that  it 's  coming  out. 
Good  dog-teams  will  be  at  a  premium  in  another 
twenty- four  hours.  Now  you  've  got  to  get  away  as 
decently  as  you  can  as  soon  as  dinner  is  over.  I  've 
arranged  it.  An  Indian  will  come  with  a  message 
for  you.  You  read  it,  let  on  that  you  're  very  much 
put  out,  make  your  excuses,  and  get  away." 

"I  —  er  —  I  fail  to  follow." 

"Ninny!"     she     exclaimed     in     a     half-whisper. 


THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE      151 

"  What  you  must  do  is  to  get  out  to-night  and  hustle 
dog-teams.  I  know  of  two.  There 's  Hanson's 
team,  seven  big  Hudson  Bay  dogs  —  he 's  holding 
them  at  four  hundred  each.  That 's  top  price  to 
night,  but  it  won't  be  to-morrow.  And  Sitka  Charley 
has  eight  Malemutes  he  's  asking  thirty-five  hundred 
for.  To-morrow  he  '11  laugh  at  an  offer  of  five  thou 
sand.  Then  you  've  got  your  own  team  of  dogs. 
And  you  '11  have  to  buy  several  more  teams.  That 's 
your  work  to-night.  Get  the  best.  It 's  dogs  as  well 
as  men  that  will  win  this  race.  It 's  a  hundred  and 
ten  miles,  and  you  '11  have  to  relay  as  frequently  as 
you  can." 

"  Oh,  I  see,  you  want  me  to  go  in  for  it,"  Smoke 
drawled. 

"  If  you  have  n't  the  money  for  the  dogs,  I  '11  — " 
She  faltered,  but  before  she  could  continue,  Smoke  was 
speaking. 

"  I  can  buy  the  dogs.  But  are  n't  you  afraid  this 
is  gambling?  " 

"  After  your  exploits  at  roulette  in  the  Elkhorn," 
she  retorted,  "  I  'm  not  afraid  that  you  're  afraid.  It 's 
a  sporting  proposition,  if  that 's  what  you  mean.  A 
race  for  a  million  and  with  some  of  the  stiff est  dog- 
mushers  and  travelers  in  the  country  entered  against 
you.  They  have  n't  entered  yet,  but  by  this  time  to 
morrow  they  will,  and  dogs  will  be  worth  what  the 
richest  man  can  afford  to  pay.  Big  Olaf  is  in  town. 
He  came  up  from  Circle  City  last  month.  He  is  one 
of  the  most  terrible  dog-mushers  in  the  country,  and 
if  he  enters  he  will  be  your  most  dangerous  man. 


152  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Arizona  Bill  is  another.  He  's  been  a  professional 
freighter  and  mail-carrier  for  years.  If  he  goes  in, 
interest  will  be  centered  on  him  and  Big  Olaf." 

"  And  you  intend  me  to  come  along  as  a  sort  of  dark 
horse?" 

"  Exactly.  And  it  will  have  its  advantages.  You 
will  not  be  supposed  to  stand  a  show.  After  all,  you 
know,  you  are  still  classed  as  a  chekako.  You  have  n't 
seen  the  four  seasons  go  around.  Nobody  will  take 
notice  of  you  until  you  come  into  the  home  stretch 
in  the  lead." 

"  It 's  on  the  home  stretch  the  dark  horse  is  to  show 
up  its  classy  form,  eh  ?  " 

She  nodded,  and  continued  earnestly:  "  Remember, 
I  shall  never  forgive  myself  for  the  trick  I  played  on 
the  Squaw  Creek  stampede  unless  you  win  this  Mono 
claim.  And  if  any  man  can  win  this  race  against  the 
old-timers,  it 's  you." 

It  was  the  way  she  said  it.  He  felt  warm  all  over, 
and  in  his  heart  and  head.  He  gave  her  a  quick, 
searching  look,  involuntary  and  serious,  and  for  the 
moment  that  her  eyes  met  his  steadily  ere  they  fell, 
it  seemed  to  him  that  he  read  something  of  vaster  im 
port  than  the  claim  Cyrus  Johnson  had  failed  to 
record. 

"  I  '11  do  it,"  he  said,  "  I  '11  win  it." 

The  glad  light  in  her  eyes  seemed  to  promise  a 
greater  meed  than  all  the  gold  in  the  Mono  claim.  He 
was  aware  of  a  movement  of  her  hand  in  her  lap. 
Under  the  screen  of  the  table-cloth  he  thrust  his  own 
hand  across  and  met  a  firm  grip  of  woman's  fingers 


THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE   153 

that    sent    another    wave    of    warmth    through    him. 

"What  will  Shorty  say?"  was  the  thought  that 
flashed  whimsically  through  his  mind  as  he  withdrew 
his  hand.  He  glanced  almost  jealously  at  the  faces 
of  Von  Schroeder  and  Jones,  and  wondered  if  they 
had  not  divined  the  remarkableness  and  deliciousness 
of  this  woman  who  sat  beside  him. 

He  was  aroused  by  her  voice,  and  realized  that  she 
had  been  speaking  for  some  moments. 

"  So,  you  see,  Arizona  Bill  is  a  white  Indian,"  she 
was  saying.  "  And  Big  Olaf  is  a  bear-wrestler,  a 
king  of  the  snows,  a  mighty  savage.  He  can  out- 
travel  and  out-endure  an  Indian,  and  he 's  never 
known  any  other  life  than  that  of  the  wild  and  the 
frost." 

"  Who  's  that?"  Captain  Consadine  broke  in  from 
across  the  table. 

"  Big  Olaf,"  she  answered.  "  I  was  just  telling 
Mr.  Bellew  what  a  traveler  he  is." 

"  You  're  right,"  the  captain's  voice  boomed. 
"  Big  Olaf  is  the  greatest  traveler  in  the  Yukon.  I  'd 
back  him  against  Old  Nick  himself  for  snow-bucking 
and  ice-travel.  He  brought  in  the  government  des 
patches  in  1895,  and  he  did  it  after  two  couriers  were 
frozen  on  Chilkoot  and  the  third  drowned  in  the  open 
water  of  Thirty  Mile." 

Smoke  had  traveled  in  a  leisurely  fashion  up  to 
Mono  Creek,  fearing  to  tire  his  dogs  before  the  big 
race.  Also,  he  had  familiarized  himself  with  every 
mile  of  the  trail  and  located  his  relay  camps.  So 
many  men  had  entered  the  race  that  the  hundred  and 


154  SMOKE  BELLEW 

ten  miles  of  its  course  were  almost  a  continuous  vil 
lage.  Relay  camps  were  everywhere  along  the  trail. 
Von  Schroeder,  who  had  gone  in  purely  for  the  sport, 
had  no  less  than  eleven  dog-teams  —  a  fresh  one  for 
every  ten  miles.  Arizona  Bill  had  been  forced  to  con 
tent  himself  with  eight  teams.  Big  Olaf  had  seven, 
which  was  the  complement  of  Smoke.  In  addition, 
over  two  score  of  other  men  were  in  the  running. 
Not  every  day,  even  in  the  golden  north,  was  a  million 
dollars  the  prize  for  a  dog-race.  The  country  had 
been  swept  of  dogs,  and  their  prices  had  doubled  and 
quadrupled  in  the  course  of  the  frantic  speculation. 

Number  Three  below  Discovery  was  ten  miles  up 
Mono  Creek  from  its  mouth.  The  remaining  hun 
dred  miles  was  to  be  run  on  the  frozen  breast  of  the 
Yukon.  On  Number  Three  itself  were  fifty  tents  and 
over  three  hundred  dogs.  The  old  stakes,  blazed  and 
scrawled  sixty  days  before  by  Cyrus  Johnson,  still 
stood,  and  every  man  had  gone  over  the  boundaries 
of  the  claim  again  and  again,  for  the  race  with  the 
dogs  was  to  be  preceded  by  a  foot  and  obstacle  race. 
Each  man  had  to  relocate  the  claim  for  himself,  and 
this  meant  that  he  must  place  two  center-stakes  and 
four  corner-stakes  and  cross  the  creek  twice,  before 
he  could  start  for  Dawson  with  his  dogs. 

Furthermore,  there  were  to  be  no  "  sooners."  Not 
until  the  stroke  of  midnight  of  Friday  night  was  the 
claim  open  for  relocation,  and  not  until  the  stroke  of 
midnight  could  a  man  plant  a  stake.  This  was  the 
ruling  of  the  gold  commissioner  at  Dawson,  and  Cap 
tain  Consadine  had  sent  up  a  squad  of  mounted  police 


THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE   155 

to  enforce  it.  Discussion  had  arisen  about  the  dif 
ference  between  sun-time  and  police-time,  but  Con- 
sadine  had  sent  forth  his  fiat  that  police-time  went, 
and,  further,  that  it  was  the  watch  of  Lieutenant  Pol 
lock  that  went. 

The  Mono  trail  ran  along  the  level  creek-bed,  and, 
less  than  two  feet  in  width,  was  like  a  groove,  walled 
on  either  side  by  the  snowfall  of  months.  The  prob 
lem  of  how  forty-odd  sleds  and  three  hundred  dogs 
were  to  start  in  so  narrow  a  course  was  in  every 
body's  mind. 

"  Huh !  "  said  Shorty.  "  It 's  goin'  to  be  the  gosh- 
dangdest  mix-up  that  ever  was.  I  can't  see  no  way  out, 
Smoke,  except  main  strength  an'  sweat  an'  to  plow 
through.  If  the  whole  creek  was  glare-ice  they  ain't 
room  for  a  dozen  teams  abreast.  I  got  a  hunch  right 
now  they  's  goin'  to  be  a  heap  of  scrappin'  before  they 
get  strung  out.  An'  if  any  of  it  comes  our  way, 
you  got  to  let  me  do  the  punchin'." 

Smoke  squared  his  shoulders  and  laughed  non-com- 
mittally. 

"No,  you  don't!"  his  partner  cried  in  alarm. 
"  No  matter  what  happens,  you  don't  dast  hit.  You 
can't  handle  dogs  a  hundred  miles  with  a  busted 
knuckle,  an'  that 's  what  '11  happen  if  you  land  on 
somebody's  jaw." 

Smoke  nodded  his  head.  "  You  're  right,  Shorty. 
I  could  n't  risk  the  chance." 

"  An'  just  remember,"  Shorty  went  on,  "  that  I  got 
to  do  all  the  shovin'  for  them  first  ten  miles,  an'  you 
got  to  take  it  easy  as  you  can.  I  '11  sure  jerk  you 


156  SMOKE  BELLEW 

through  to  the  Yukon.  After  that  it 's  up  to  you  an' 
the  dogs.  Say,  what  d'  ye  think  Schroeder's  scheme 
is?  He  's  got  his  first  team  a  quarter  of  a  mile  down 
the  creek,  an'  he  '11  know  it  by  a  green  lantern.  But 
we  got  him  skinned.  Me  for  the  red  flare  every 
time." 

The  day  had  been  clear  and  cold,  but  a  blanket  of 
cloud  formed  across  the  face  of  the  sky,  and  the 
night  came  on  warm  and  dark,  with  the  hint  of  snow 
impending.  The  thermometer  registered  fifteen  be 
low  zero,  and  in  the  Klondike  winter  fifteen  below  is 
esteemed  very  warm. 

At  a  few  minutes  before  midnight,  leaving 
Shorty  with  the  dogs  five  hundred  yards  down  the 
creek,  Smoke  joined  the  racers  on  Number  Three. 
There  were  forty-five  of  them  waiting  the  start  for 
the  thousand  thousand  dollars  Cyrus  Johnson  had  left 
lying  in  the  frozen  gravel.  Each  man  carried  six 
stakes  and  a  heavy  wooden  mallet,  and  was  clad  in 
a  smock-like  parka  of  heavy  cotton  drill. 

Lieutenant  Pollock,  in  a  big  bearskin  coat,  looked 
at  his  watch  by  the  light  of  a  fire.  It  lacked  a  minute 
of  midnight.  "  Make  ready,"  he  said,  as  he  raised 
a  revolver  in  his  right  hand  and  watched  the  second 
hand  tick  around. 

Forty-five  hoods  were  thrown  back  from  the  parkas, 
forty-five  pairs  of  hands  were  unmittened,  and  forty- 
five  pairs  of  moccasins  pressed  tensely  into  the 
packed  snow.  Also,  forty-five  stakes  were  thrust  in 
to  the  snow,  and  the  same  number  of  mallets  lifted  in 
the  air. 


THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE   157 

The  shot  rang  out,  and  the  mallets  fell.  Cyrus 
Johnson's  right  to  the  million  had  expired. 

Smoke  drove  in  his  stake  and  was  away  with  the 
leading  dozen.  Fires  had  been  lighted  at  the  corners, 
and  by  each  fire  stood  a  policeman,  list  in  hand,  check 
ing  off  the  names  of  the  runners.  A  man  was  sup 
posed  to  call  out  his  name  and  show  his  face.  There 
was  to  be  no  staking  by  proxy  while  the  real  racer 
was  off  and  away  down  the  creek. 

At  the  first  corner,  beside  Smoke's  stake,  Von 
Schroeder  placed  his.  The  mallets  struck  at  the  same 
instant.  As  they  hammered,  more  arrived  from  be 
hind  and  with  such  impetuosity  as  to  get  in  one 
another's  way  and  cause  jostling  and  shoving. 
Squirming  through  the  press  and  calling  his  name  to 
the  policeman,  Smoke  saw  the  baron,  struck  in  colli 
sion  by  one  of  the  rushers,  hurled  clean  off  his  feet 
into  the  snow.  But  Smoke  did  not  wait.  Others 
were  still  ahead  of  him.  By  the  light  of  the  vanish 
ing  fire,  he  was  certain  that  he  saw  the  back,  hugely 
looming,  of  Big  Olaf,  and  at  the  southwestern  cor 
ner  Big  Olaf  and  he  drove  their  stakes  side  by  side. 

It  was  no  light  work,  this  preliminary  obstacle  race. 
The  boundaries  of  the  claim  totaled  nearly  a  mile, 
and  most  of  it  was  over  the  uneven  surface  of  a  snow- 
covered,  niggerhead  flat.  All  about  Smoke  men 
tripped  and  fell,  and  several  times  he  pitched  forward 
himself,  jarringly,  on  hands  and  knees.  Once,  Big 
Olaf  fell  so  immediately  in  front  of  him  as  to  bring 
him  down  on  top. 

The  upper  center-stake  was  driven  by  the  edge  of 


158  SMOKE  BELLEW 

the  bank,  and  down  the  bank  the  racers  plunged, 
across  the  frozen  creek-bed,  and  up  the  other  side. 
Here,  as  Smoke  clambered,  a  hand  gripped  his  ankle 
and  jerked  him  back.  In  the  flickering  light  of  a 
distant  fire,  it  was  impossible  to  see  who  had  played 
the  trick.  But  Arizona  Bill,  who  had  been  treated 
similarly,  rose  to  his  feet  and  drove  his  fist  with  a 
crunch  into  the  offender's  face,  Smoke  saw  and 
heard  as  he  was  scrambling  to  his  feet,  but  before  he 
could  make  another  lunge  for  the  bank  a  fist  dropped 
him  half  stunned  into  the  snow.  He  staggered  up, 
located  the  man,  half  swung  a  hook  for  his  jaw,  then 
remembered  Shorty's  warning  and  refrained.  The 
next  moment,  struck  below  the  knees  by  a  hurtling 
body,  he  went  down  again. 

It  was  a  foretaste  of  what  would  happen  when  the 
men  reached  their  sleds.  Men  were  pouring  over  the 
other  bank  and  piling  into  the  jam.  They  swarmed 
up  the  bank  in  bunches,  and  in  bunches  were  dragged 
back  by  their  impatient  fellows.  More  blows  were 
struck,  curses  rose  from  the  panting  chests  of  those 
who  still  had  wind  to  spare,  and  Smoke,  curiously 
visioning  the  face  of  Joy  Gastell,  hoped  that  the  mal 
lets  would  not  be  brought  into  play.  Overthrown, 
trod  upon,  groping  in  the  snow  for  his  lost  stakes, 
he  at  last  crawled  out  of  the  crush  and  attacked  the 
bank  farther  along.  Others  were  doing  this,  and 
it  was  his  luck  to  have  many  men  in  advance  of  him 
in  the  race  for  the  northwestern  corner. 

Reaching  the  fourth  corner,  he  tripped  headlong, 
and  in  the  sprawling  fall  lost  his  remaining  stake. 


J   THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE   159 

For  five  minutes  he  groped  in  the  darkness  before  he 
found  it,  and  all  the  time  the  panting  runners  were 
passing  him.  From  the  last  corner  to  the  creek  he 
began  overtaking  men  for  whom  the  mile  run  had 
been  too  much.  In  the  creek  itself  bedlam  had  broken 
loose.  A  dozen  sleds  were  piled  up  and  overturned, 
and  nearly  a  hundred  dogs  were  locked  in  combat. 
Among  them  men  struggled,  tearing  the  tangled  ani 
mals  apart,  or  beating  them  apart  with  clubs. 

Leaping  down  the  bank  beyond  the  glutted  pas 
sage,  he  gained  the  hard-footing  of  the  sled-trail  and 
made  better  time.  Here,  in  packed  harbors  beside 
the  narrow  trail,  sleds  and  men  waited  for  runners 
that  were  still  behind.  From  the  rear  came  the  whine 
and  rush  of  dogs,  and  Smoke  had  barely  time  to  leap 
aside  into  the  deep  snow.  A  sled  tore  past,  and  he 
made  out  the  man  kneeling  and  shouting  madly. 
Scarcely  was  it  by  when  it  stopped  with  a  crash  of 
battle.  The  excited  dogs  of  a  harbored  sled,  resent 
ing  the  passing  animals,  had  got  out  of  hand  and 
sprung  upon  them. 

Smoke  plunged  around  and  by.  He  could  see  the 
green  lantern  of  Von  Schroeder  and,  just  below  it, 
the  red  flare  that  marked  his  own  team.  Two  men 
were  guarding  Von  Schroeder's  dogs,  with  short  clubs 
interposed  between  them  and  the  trail. 

"  Come  on,  you  Smoke !  Come  on,  you  Smoke !  " 
he  could  hear  Shorty  calling  anxiously. 

"  Coming!  "  he  gasped. 

By  the  red  flare,  he  could  see  the  snow  torn  up  and 
trampled,  and  from  the  way  his  partner  breathed  he 


160  SMOKE  BELLEW 

knew  a  battle  had  been  fought.  He  staggered  to  the 
sled,  and,  in  the  moment  he  was  falling  on  it,  Shorty's 
whip  snapped  as  he  yelled: 

"  Mush !  you  devils !     Mush !  " 

The  dogs  sprang  into  the  breast-bands,  and  the  sled 
jerked  abruptly  ahead.  They  were  big  animals  — 
Hanson's  prize  team  of  Hudson  Bays  —  and  Smoke 
had  selected  them  for  the  first  stage,  which  included 
the  ten  miles  of  Mono,  the  heavy  going  of  the  cut-off 
across  the  flat  at  the  mouth,  and  the  first  ten  miles 
of  the  Yukon  stretch. 

"  How  many  are  ahead  ?  "  he  asked. 

'''  You  shut  up  an'  save  your  wind,"  Shorty  an 
swered.  "  Hi !  you  brutes !  Hit  her  up !  Hit  her 
up!" 

He  was  running  behind  the  sled,  towing  on  a  short 
rope.  Smoke  could  not  see  him;  nor  could  he  see 
the  sled  on  which  he  lay  full  length.  The  fires  had 
been  left  in  the  rear,  and  they  were  tearing  through  a 
wall  of  blackness  as  fast  as  the  dogs  could  spring 
into  it.  This  blackness  was  almost  sticky,  so  nearly 
did  it  take  on  the  seeming  of  substance. 

Smoke  felt  the  sled  heel  up  on  one  runner  as  it 
rounded  an  invisible  curve,  and  from  ahead  came  the 
snarls  of  beasts  and  the  oaths  of  men.  This  was 
known  afterward  as  the  Barnes-Slocum  jam.  It  was 
the  teams  of  those  two  men  which  first  collided,  and 
into  it,  at  full  career,  piled  Smoke's  seven  big  fighters, 
Scarcely  more  than  semi-domesticated  wolves,  the  ex 
citement  of  that  night  on  Mono  Creek  had  sent  every 
dog  fighting  mad.  The  Klondike  dogs,  driven  with- 


THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE   161 

out  reins,  cannot  be  stopped  except  by  voice,  so  that 
there  was  no  stopping  this  glut  of  struggle  that  heaped 
itself  between  the  narrow  rims  of  the  creek.  From 
behind,  sled  after  sled  hurled  into  the  turmoil.  Men 
who  had  their  teams  nearly  extricated  were  over 
whelmed  by  fresh  avalanches  of  dogs  —  each  animal 
well  fed,  well  rested,  and  ripe  for  battle. 

"  It 's  knock  down  an'  drag  out  an'  plow  through !  " 
Shorty  yelled  in  his  partner's  ear.  "  An'  watch  out 
for  your  knuckles !  You  drag  dogs  out  an'  let  me  do 
the  punchin' !  " 

What  happened  in  the  next  half-hour  Smoke  never 
distinctly  remembered.  At  the  end  he  emerged  ex 
hausted,  sobbing  for  breath,  his  jaw  sore  from  a  fist- 
blow,  his  shoulder  aching  from  the  bruise  of  a  club, 
the  blood  running  warmly  down  one  leg  from  the  rip 
of  a  dog's  fangs,  and  both  sleeves  of  his  parka  torn 
to  shreds.  As  in  a  dream,  while  the  battle  still  raged 
behind,  he  helped  Shorty  reharness  the  dogs.  One, 
dying,  they  cut  from  the  traces,  and  in  the  dark 
ness  they  felt  their  way  to  the  repair  of  the  disrupted 
harness. 

"  Now  you  lie  down  an'  get  your  wind  back," 
Shorty  commanded. 

And  through  the  darkness  the  dogs  sped,  with  un 
abated  strength,  down  Mono  Creek,  across  the  long 
cut-off,  and  to  the  Yukon.  Here,  at  the  junction  with 
the  main  river-trail,  somebody  had  lighted  a  fire,  and 
here  Shorty  said  good-by.  By  the  light  of  the  fire, 
as  the  sled  leaped  behind  the  flying  dogs,  Smoke 
caught  another  of  the  unforgettable  pictures  of  the 


162  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Northland.  It  was  of  Shorty,  swaying  and  sinking 
down  limply  in  the  snow,  yelling  his  parting  encour 
agement,  one  eye  blackened  and  closed,  knuckles 
bruised  and  broken,  and  one  arm,  ripped  and  fang- 
torn,  gushing  forth  a  steady  stream  of  blood. 

"  How  many  ahead  ?  "  Smoke  asked,  as  he  dropped 
his  tired  Hudson  Bays  and  sprang  upon  the  waiting 
sled  at  the  first  relay-station. 

"  I  counted  eleven,"  the  man  called  after  him,  for 
he  was  already  away,  behind  the  leaping  dogs. 

Fifteen  miles  they  were  to  carry  him  on  the  next 
stage,  which  would  fetch  him  to  the  mouth  of  White 
River.  There  were  nine  of  them,  but  they  composed 
his  weakest  team.  The  twenty-five  miles  between 
White  River  and  Sixty  Mile  he  had  broken  into  two 
stages  because  of  ice- jams?,  and  here  two  of  his  heavi 
est,  toughest  teams  were  stationed. 

He  lay  on  the  sled  at  full  length,  face  down,  hold 
ing  on  with  both  hands.  Whenever  the  dogs  slacked 
from  topmost  speed  he  rose  to  his  knees,  and,  yelling 
and  urging,  clinging  precariously  with  one  hand, 
threw  his  whip  into  them.  Poor  team  that  it  was, 
he  passed  two  sleds  before  White  River  was  reached. 
Here,  at  the  freeze-up,  a  jam  had  piled  a  barrier,  al 
lowing  the  open  water  that  formed  for  half  a  mile 
below  to  freeze  smoothly.  This  smooth  stretch  en 
abled  the  racers  to  make  flying  exchanges  of  sleds, 
and  down  all  the  course  they  had  placed  their  relays 
below  the  jams. 

Over  the  jam  and  out  onto  the  smooth,  Smoke  tore 
along,  calling  loudly,  "  Billy!  Billy!  " 


THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE   163 

Billy  heard  and  answered,  and  by  the  light  of  the 
many  fires  on  the  ice,  Smoke  saw  a  sled  swing  in 
from  the  side  and  come  abreast.  Its  dogs  were  fresh 
and  overhauled  his.  As  the  sleds  swerved  toward 
each  other  he  leaped  across,  and  Billy  promptly  rolled 
off. 

"  Where  's  Big  Olaf  ?  "  Smoke  cried. 

"Leading!"  Billy's  voice  answered;  and  the  fires 
were  left  behind,  and  Smoke  was  again  flying  through 
the  wall  of  blackness. 

In  the  jams  of  that  relay,  where  the  way  led  across 
a  chaos  of  up-ended  ice-cakes,  and  wrhere  Smoke 
slipped  off  the  forward  end  of  the  sled  and  with  a 
haul-rope  toiled  behind  the  wheel-dog,  he  passed 
three  sleds.  Accidents  had  happened,  and  he  could 
hear  the  men  cutting  out  dogs  and  mending  harnesses. 

Among  the  jams  of  the  next  short  relay  into  Sixty 
Mile,  he  passed  two  more  teams.  And  that  he  might 
know  adequately  what  had  happened  to  them,  one  of 
his  own  dogs  wrenched  a  shoulder,  was  unable  to  keep 
up,  and  was  dragged  in  the  harness.  Its  teammates, 
angered,  fell  upon  it  with  their  fangs,  and  Smoke  was 
forced  to  club  them  off  with  the  heavy  butt  of  his 
whip.  As  he  cut  the  injured  animal  out,  he  heard 
the  whining  cries  of  dogs  behind  him  and  the  voice 
of  a  man  that  was  familiar.  It  was  Von  Schroeder. 
Smoke  called  a  warning  to  prevent  a  rear-end  colli 
sion,  and  the  baron,  hawing  his  animals  and  swinging 
on  the  gee-pole,  went  by  a  dozen  feet  to  the  side.  Yet 
so  impenetrable  was  the  blackness  that  Smoke  heard 
him  pass  but  did  not  see  him. 


i64  SMOKE  BELLEW 

On  the  smooth  stretch  of  ice  beside  the  trading- 
post  at  Sixty  Mile,  Smoke  overtook  two  more  sleds. 
All  had  just  changed  teams,  and  for  five  minutes  they 
ran  abreast,  each  man  on  his  knees  and  pouring  whip 
and  voice  into  the  maddened  dogs.  But  Smoke  had 
studied  out  that  portion  of  the  trail,  and  now  marked 
the  tall  pine  on  the  bank  that  showed  faintly  in  the 
light  of  the  many  fires.  Below  that  pine  was  not 
merely  darkness,  but  an  abrupt  cessation  of  the 
smooth  stretch.  There  the  trail,  he  knew,  narrowed 
to  a  single  sled-width.  Leaning  out  ahead,  he  caught 
the  haul-rope  and  drew  his  leaping  sled  up  to  the 
wheel-dog.  He  caught  the  animal  by  the  hind  legs 
and  threw  it.  With  a  snarl  of  rage  it  tried  to  slash 
him  with  its  fangs,  but  was  dragged  on  by  the  rest  of 
the  team.  Its  body  proved  an  efficient  brake,  and  the 
two  other  teams,  still  abreast,  dashed  ahead  into  the 
darkness  for  the  narrow  way. 

Smoke  heard  the  crash  and  uproar  of  their  collision, 
released  his  wheeler,  sprang  to  the  gee-pole,  and  urged 
his  team  to  the  right  into  the  soft  snow  where  the 
straining  animals  wallowed  to  their  necks.  It  was 
exhausting  work,  but  he  won  by  the  tangled  teams  and 
gained  the  hard-packed  trail  beyond. 

On  the  relay  out  of  Sixty  Mile,  Smoke  had  next 
to  his  poorest  team,  and  though  the  going  was  good, 
he  had  set  it  a  short  fifteen  miles.  Two  more  teams 
would  bring  him  into  Dawson  and  to  the  gold-re 
corder's  office,  and  Smoke  had  selected  his  best  animals 
for  the  last  two  stretches.  Sitka  Charley  himself 
waited  with  the  eight  Malemutes  that  would  jerk 


THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE   165 

Smoke  along  for  twenty  miles,  and  for  the  finish,  with 
a  fifteen-mile  run,  was  his  own  team  —  the  team  he  had 
had  all  winter  and  which  had  been  with  him  in  the 
search  for  Surprise  Lake. 

The  two  men  he  had  left  entangled  at  Sixty  Mile 
failed  to  overtake  him,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  his 
team  failed  to  overtake  any  of  the  three  that  still  led. 
His  animals  were  willing,  though  they  lacked  stamina 
and  speed,  and  little  urging  was  needed  to  keep  them 
jumping  into  it  at  their  best.  There  was  nothing  for 
Smoke  to  do  but  to  lie  face  downward  and  hold  on. 
Now  and  again  he  would  plunge  out  of  the  darkness 
into  the  circle  of  light  about  a  blazing  fire,  catch  a 
glimpse  of  furred  men  standing  by  harnessed  and  wait 
ing  dogs,  and  plunge  into  the  darkness  again.  Mile 
after  mile,  with  only  the  grind  and  jar  of  the  runners 
in  his  ears,  he  sped  on.  Almost  automatically  he  kept 
his  place  as  the  sled  bumped  ahead  or  half  lifted  and 
heeled  on  the  swings  and  swerves  of  the  bends. 

The  gray  twilight  of  the  morning  was  breaking  as 
he  exchanged  his  weary  dogs  for  eight  fresh  Male- 
mutes.  Lighter  animals  than  the  Hudson  Bays,  they 
were  capable  of  greater  speed,  and  they  ran  with  the 
supple  tirelessness  of  true  wolves.  Sitka  Charley 
called  out  the  order  of  the  teams  ahead.  Big  Olaf  led, 
Arizona  Bill  was  second,  and  Von  Schroeder  third. 
These  were  the  three  best  men  in  the  country.  In 
fact,  ere  Smoke  had  left  Dawson,  the  popular  betting 
had  placed  them  in  that  order.  While  they  were  rac 
ing  for  a  million,  at  least  half  a  million  had  been 
staked  by  others  on  the  outcome  of  the  race.  No  one 


i66  SMOKE  BELLEW 

had  bet  on  Smoke,  who,  despite  his  several  known  ex 
ploits,  was  still  accounted  a  chekako  with  much  to 
learn. 

As  daylight  strengthened,  Smoke  caught  sight  of  a 
sled  ahead,  and,  in  half  an  hour,  his  own  lead-dog  was 
leaping  at  its  tail.  Not  until  the  man  turned  his  head 
to  exchange  greetings,  did  Smoke  recognize  him  as 
Arizona  Bill.  Von  Schroeder  had  evidently  passed 
him.  The  trail,  hard-packed,  ran  too  narrowly 
through  the  soft  snow,  and  for  another  half-hour 
Smoke  was  forced  to  stay  in  the  rear.  Then  they 
topped  an  ice- jam  and  struck  a  smooth  stretch  below, 
where  were  a  number  of  relay-camps  and  where  the 
snow  was  packed  widely.  On  his  knees,  swinging 
his  whip  and  yelling,  Smoke  drew  abreast  of  Arizona 
Bill,  then  pulled  ahead. 

Bill  dropped  behind  very  slowly,  though  when  the 
last  relay-station  was  in  sight  he  was  fully  half  a  mile 
in  the  rear.  Ahead,  bunched  together,  Smoke  could 
see  Big  Olaf  and  Von  Schroeder.  Again  Smoke  arose 
to  his  knees,  and  he  lifted  his  jaded  dogs  into  a  burst 
of  speed  such  as  a  man  only  can  who  has  the  proper 
instinct  for  dog-driving.  He  drew  up  close  to  the 
tail  of  Von  Schroeder's  sled,  and  in  this  order  the 
three  sleds  dashed  out  on  the  smooth  going  below  a 
jam,  where  many  men  and  many  dogs  waited.  Daw- 
son  was  fifteen  miles  away. 

Von  Schroeder,  with  his  ten-mile  relays,  had 
changed  five  miles  back  and  would  change  five  miles 
ahead.  So  he  held  on,  keeping  his  dogs  at  full  leap. 
Big  Olaf  and  Smoke  made  flying  changes,  and  their 


THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE   167 

fresh  teams  immediately  regained  what  had  been  lost 
to  the  baron.  Big  Olaf  led  past,  and  Smoke  followed 
into  the  narrow  trail  beyond. 

"  Still  good,  but  not  so  good,"  Smoke  paraphrased 
Spencer  to  himself. 

Of  Von  Schroeder,  now  behind,  he  had  no  fear ;  but 
ahead  was  the  greatest  dog-driver  in  the  country.  To 
pass  him  seemed  impossible.  Again  and  again,  many 
times,  Smoke  forced  his  leader  to  the  other's  sled-tail, 
and  each  time  Big  Olaf  let  out  another  link  and  drew 
away.  Smoke  contented  himself  with  taking  the  pace, 
and  hung  on  grimly.  The  race  was  not  lost  until  one 
or  the  other  won,  and  in  fifteen  miles  many  things 
could  happen. 

Three  miles  from  Dawson  something  did  happen. 
To  Smoke's  surprise,  Big  Olaf  rose  up  and  with  oaths 
and  leather  proceeded  to  fetch  out  the  last  ounce  of 
effort  in  his  animals.  It  was  a  spurt  that  should  have 
been  reserved  for  the  last  hundred  yards  instead  of 
being  begun  three  miles  from  the  finish.  Sheer  dog- 
killing  that  it  was,  Smoke  followed.  His  own  team 
was  superb.  No  dogs  on  the  Yukon  had  had  harder 
work  or  were  in  better  condition.  Besides,  Smoke 
had  toiled  with  them,  and  eaten  and  bedded  with 
them,  and  he  knew  each  dog  as  an  individual  and  how 
best  to  win  in  to  the  animal's  intelligence  and  extract 
its  last  least  shred  of  willingness. 

They  topped  a  small  jam  and  struck  the  smooth 
going  below.  Big  Olaf  was  barely  fifty  feet  ahead. 
A  sled  shot  out  from  the  side  and  drew  in  toward 
him,  and  Smoke  understood  Big  Olaf's  terrific  spurt. 


1 68  SMOKE  BELLEW 

He  had  tried  to  gain  a  lead  for  the  change.  This 
fresh  team  that  waited  to  jerk  him  down  the  home 
stretch  had  been  a  private  surprise  of  his.  Even  the 
men  who  had  backed  him  to  win  had  no  knowledge 
of  it. 

Smoke  strove  desperately  to  pass  during  the  ex 
change  of  sleds.  Lifting  his  dogs  to  the  effort,  he  ate 
up  the  intervening  fifty  feet.  With  urging  and  pour 
ing  of  leather,  he  went  to  the  side  and  on  until  his 
head-dog  was  jumping  abreast  of  Big  Olaf's  wheeler. 
On  the  other  side,  abreast,  was  the  relay  sled.  At  the 
speed  they  were  going,  Big  Olaf  did  not  dare  try  the 
flying  leap.  If  he  missed  and  fell  off,  Smoke  would 
be  in  the  lead,  and  the  race  would  be  lost. 

Big  Olaf  tried  to  spurt  ahead,  and  he  lifted  his 
dogs  magnificently,  but  Smoke's  leader  still  continued 
to  jump  beside  Big  Olaf's  wheeler.  For  half  a  mile  the 
three  sleds  tore  and  bounced  along  side  by  side.  The 
smooth  stretch  was  nearing  its  end  when  Big  Olaf 
took  the  chance.  As  the  flying  sleds  swerved  toward 
each  other,  he  leaped,  and  the  instant  he  struck  he 
was  on  his  knees,  with  whip  and  voice  spurting  the 
fresh  team.  The  smooth  stretch  pinched  out  into 
the  narrow  trail,  and  he  jumped  his  dogs  ahead  and 
into  it  with  a  lead  of  barely  a  yard. 

A  man  was  not  beaten  until  he  was  beaten,  was 
Smoke's  conclusion,  and  drive  no  matter  how,  Big 
Olaf  failed  to  shake  him  off.  No  team  Smoke  had 
driven  that  night  could  have  stood  such  a  killing  pace 
and  kept  up  with  fresh  dogs  —  no  team  save  this  one. 
Nevertheless,  the  pace  was  killing  it,  and  as  they  be- 


THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE   169 

gan  to  round  the  bluff  at  Klondike  City,  he  could  feel 
the  pitch  of  strength  going  out  of  his  animals.  Al 
most  imperceptibly  they  lagged  behind,  and  foot  by 
foot  Big  Olaf  drew  away  until  he  led  by  a  score 
of  yards. 

A  great  cheer  went  up  from  the  population  of  Klon 
dike  City  assembled  on  the  ice.  Here  the  Klondike 
entered  the  Yukon,  and  half  a  mile  away,  across  the 
Klondike,  on  the  north  bank,  stood  Dawson.  An 
outburst  of  madder  cheering  arose,  and  Smoke  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  sled  shooting  out  to  him.  He  recog 
nized  the  splendid  animals  that  drew  it.  They  were 
Joy  Gastell's.  And  Joy  Gastell  drove  them.  The 
hood  of  her  squirrel-skin  parka  was  tossed  back,  re 
vealing  the  cameo-like  oval  of  her  face  outlined 
against  her  heavily-massed  hair.  Mittens  had  been 
discarded,  and  with  bare  hands  she  clung  to  whip  and 
sled. 

"  Jump ! "  she  cried,  as  her  leader  snarled  at 
Smoke's. 

Smoke  struck  the  sled  behind  her.  It  rocked  vio 
lently  from  the  impact  of  his  body,  but  she  was  full 
up  on  her  knees  and  swinging  the  whip. 

"Hi!  You!  Mush  on!  Chook!  Chook!"  she  was 
crying,  and  the  dogs  whined  and  yelped  in  eagerness 
of  desire  and  effort  to  overtake  Big  Olaf. 

And  then,  as  the  lead-dog  caught  the  tail  of  Big 
Olaf's  sled,  and  yard  by  yard  drew  up  abreast,  the 
great  crowd  on  the  Dawson  bank  went  mad.  It  zvas 
a  great  crowd,  for  the  men  had  dropped  their  tools 
on  all  the  creeks  and  come  down  to  see  the  outcome 


170  SMOKE  BELLEW 

of  the  race,  and  a  dead  heat  at  the  end  of  a  hundred 
and  ten  miles  justified  any  madness. 

"  When  you  're  in  the  lead  I  'm  going  to  drop  off !  " 
Joy  cried  out  over  her  shoulder. 

Smoke  tried  to  protest. 

"  And  watch  out  for  the  dip  curve  halfway  up  the 
bank,"  she  warned. 

Dog  by  dog,  separated  by  half  a  dozen  feet,  the  two 
teams  were  running  abreast.  Big  Olaf,  with  whip  and 
voice,  held  his  own  for  a  minute.  Then,  slowly,  an 
inch  at  a  time,  Joy's  leader  began  to  forge  past. 

"  Get  ready !  "  she  cried  to  Smoke.  "  I  'm  going  to 
leave  you  in  a  minute.  Get  the  whip." 

And  as  he  shifted  his  hand  to  clutch  the  whip,  they 
heard  Big  Olaf  roar  a  warning,  but  too  late.  His 
lead  dog,  incensed  at  being  passed,  swerved  in  to  the 
attack.  His  fangs  struck  Joy's  leader  on  the  flank. 
The  rival  teams  flew  at  one  another's  throats.  The 
sleds  overran  the  fighting  brutes  and  capsized. 
Smoke  struggled  to  his  feet  and  tried  to  lift  Joy  up. 
But  she  thrust  him  from  her,  crying, 

"Go!" 

On  foot,  already  fifty  feet  in  advance,  was  Big  Olaf, 
still  intent  on  finishing  the  race.  Smoke  obeyed,  and 
when  the  two  men  reached  the  foot  of  the  Dawson 
bank,  he  was  at  the  other's  heels.  But  up  the  bank 
Big  Olaf  lifted  his  body  hugely,  regaining  a  dozen 
feet. 

Five  blocks  down  the  main  street  was  the  gold-re 
corder's  office.  The  street  was  packed  as  for  the  wit 
nessing  of  a  parade.  Not  so  easily  this  time  did 


THE  RACE  FOR  NUMBER  THREE   171 

Smoke  gain  to  his  giant  rival,  and  when  he  did  he 
was  unable  to  pass.  Side  by  side  they  ran  along  the 
narrow  aisle  between  the  solid  walls  of  cheering  men. 
Now  one,  now  the  other,  with  great  convulsive  jerks, 
gained  an  inch  or  so,  only  to  lose  it  immediately  after. 

If  the  pace  had  been  a  killing  one  for  their  dogs, 
the  one  they  now  set  themselves  was  no  less  so.  But 
they  were  racing  for  a  million  dollars  and  greatest 
honor  in  the  Yukon  country.  The  only  outside  im 
pression  that  came  to  Smoke  on  that  last  mad  stretch 
was  one  of  astonishment  that  there  should  be  so  many 
people  in  the  Klondike.  He  had  never  seen  them  all 
at  once  before. 

He  felt  himself  involuntarily  lag,  and  Big  Olaf 
sprang  a  full  stride  in  the  lead.  To  Smoke  it  seemed 
that  his  heart  would  burst,  while  he  had  lost  all  con 
sciousness  of  his  legs.  He  knew  they  were  flying 
under  him,  but  he  did  not  know  how  he  continued  to 
make  them  fly,  nor  howr  he  put  even  greater  pressure 
of  will  upon  them  and  compelled  them  again  to  carry 
him  to  his  giant  competitor's  side. 

The  open  door  of  the  recorder's  office  appeared 
ahead  of  them.  Both  men  had  made  a  final,  futile 
spurt.  Neither  could  draw  away  from  the  other,  and 
side  by  side  they  hit  the  doorway,  collided  violently, 
and  fell  headlong  on  the  office  floor. 

They  sat  up,  but  were  too  exhausted  to  rise.  Big 
Olaf,  the  sweat  pouring  from  him,  breathing  with  tre 
mendous,  painful  gasps,  pawed  the  air  and  vainly  tried 
to  speak.  Then  he  reached  out  his  hand  with  unmis 
takable  meaning ;  Smoke  extended  his,  and  they  shook. 


172  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  It 's  a  dead  heat,"  Smoke  could  hear  the  recorder 
saying,  but  it  was  as  if  in  a  dream,  and  the  voice  was 
very  thin  and  very  far  away.  "  And  all  I  can  say  is 
that  you  both  win.  You  '11  have  to  divide  the  claim 
between  you.  You  're  partners." 

Their  two  arms  pumped  up  and  down  as  they  rati 
fied  the  decision.  Big  Olaf  nodded  his  head  with 
great  emphasis,  and  spluttered.  At  last  he  got  it  out. 

"  You  damn  chekako,"  was  what  he  said,  but  in  the 
saying  of  it  was  admiration.  "  I  don't  know  how  you 
done  it,  but  you  did." 

Outside,  the  great  crowd  was  noisily  massed,  while 
the  office  was  packing  and  jamming.  Smoke  and  Big 
Olaf  essayed  to  rise,  and  each  helped  the  other  to  his 
feet.  Smoke  found  his  legs  weak  under  him,  and 
staggered  drunkenly.  Big  Olaf  tottered  toward  him. 

"  I  'm  sorry  my  dogs  jumped  yours." 

"  It  could  n't  be  helped,"  Smoke  panted  back.  "  I 
heard  you  yell." 

"  Say,"  Big  Olaf  went  on  with  shining  eyes.  "  That 
girl  —  one  damn  fine  girl,  eh  ?  " 

"  One  damn  fine  girl,"  Smoke  agreed. 


VII 

THE  LITTLE  MAN 

\YISHT  you  wasn't  so  set  in  your  ways,"  Shorty 
demurred.  "  I  'm  sure  scairt  of  that  glacier.  No 
man  ought  to  tackle  it  by  his  lonely." 

Smoke  laughed  cheerfully,  and  ran  his  eye  up  the 
glistening  face  of  the  tiny  glacier  that  filled  the  head 
of  the  valley.  "  Here  it  is  August  already,  and  the 
days  have  been  getting  shorter  for  two  months,"  he 
epitomized  the  situation.  "  You  know  quartz,  and  I 
don't.  But  I  can  bring  up  the  grub,  while  you  keep 
after  that  mother  lode.  So-long.  I. '11  be  back  by  to 
morrow  evening." 

He  turned  and  started. 

"  I  got  a  hunch  something 's  goin'  to  happen," 
Shorty  pleaded  after  him. 

But  Smoke's  reply  was  a  bantering  laugh.  He  held 
on  down  the  little  valley,  occasionally  wiping  the  sweat 
from  his  forehead,  the  while  his  feet  crushed  through 
ripe  mountain  raspberries  and  delicate  ferns  that  grew 
beside  patches  of  sun-sheltered  ice. 

In  the  early  spring  he  and  Shorty  had  come  up  the 
Stewart  River  and  launched  out  into  the  amazing 
chaos  of  the  region  where  Surprise  Lake  lay.  And  all 
of  the  spring  and  half  of  the  summer  had  been  con 
sumed  in  futile  wanderings,  when,  on  the  verge  of 

173 


174  SMOKE  BELLEW 

turning  back,  they  caught  their  first  glimpse  of  the 
baffling,  gold-bottomed  sheet  of  water  which  had  lured 
and  fooled  a  generation  of  miners.  Making  their 
camp  in  the  old  cabin  which  Smoke  had  discovered 
on  his  previous  visit,  they  had  learned  three  things: 
first,  heavy  nugget  gold  was  carpeted  thickly  on  the 
lake  bottom;  next,  the  gold  could  be  dived  for  in  the 
shallower  portions,  but  the  temperature  of  the  water 
was  man-killing;  and,  finally,  the  draining  of  the  lake 
was  too  stupendous  a  task  for  two  men  in  the  shorter 
half  of  a  short  summer.  Undeterred,  reasoning  from 
the  coarseness  of  the  gold  that  it  had  not  traveled  far, 
they  had  set  out  in  search  of  the  mother  lode.  They 
had  crossed  the  big  glacier  that  frowned  on  the  south 
ern  rim  and  devoted  themselves  to  the  puzzling  maze 
of  small  valleys  and  canyons  beyond,  which,  by  most 
unmountainlike  methods,  drained,  or  had  at  one  time 
drained,  into  the  lake. 

The  valley  Smoke  was  descending  gradually  widened 
after  the  fashion  of  any  normal  valley;  but,  at  the 
lower  end,  it  pinched  narrowly  between  high  precipi 
tous  walls  and  abruptly  stopped  in  a  cross  wall.  At 
the  base  of  this,  in  a  welter  of  broken  rock,  the  stream 
let  disappeared,  evidently  finding  its  way  out  under 
ground.  Climbing  the  cross  wall,  from  the  top  Smoke 
saw  the  lake  beneath  him.  Unlike  any  mountain  lake 
he  had  ever  seen,  it  was  not  blue.  Instead,  its  in 
tense  peacock-green  tokened  its  shallowness.  It  was 
this  shallowness  that  made  its  draining  feasible.  All 
about  arose  jumbled  mountains,  with  ice-scarred  peaks 
and  crags,  grotesquely  shaped  and  grouped.  All  was 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  175 

topsyturvy  and  unsystematic  —  a  Dore  nightmare. 
So  fantastic  and  impossible  was  it  that  it  affected 
Smoke  as  more  like  a  cosmic  landscape-joke  than  a 
rational  portion  of  earth's  surface.  There  were 
many  glaciers  in  the  canyons,  most  of  them  tiny,  and, 
as  he  looked,  one  of  the  larger  ones,  on  the  north 
shore,  caved  amid  thunders  and  splashings.  Across 
the  lake,  seemingly  not  more  than  half  a  mile,  but, 
as  he  well  knew,  five  miles  away,  he  could  see  the 
bunch  of  spruce-trees  and  the  cabin.  He  looked 
again  to  make  sure,  and  saw  smoke  clearly  rising  from 
the  chimney.  Somebody  else  had  surprised  them 
selves  into  finding  Surprise  Lake,  was  his  conclusion, 
as  he  turned  to  climb  the  southern  wall. 

From  the  top  of  this  he  came  down  into  a  little 
valley,  flower-floored  and  lazy  with  the  hum  of  bees, 
that  behaved  quite  as  a  reasonable  valley  should, -in 
so  far  as  it  made  legitimate  entry  on  the  lake.  What 
was  wrong  with  it  was  its  length  —  scarcely  a  hun 
dred  yards;  its  head  a  straight  up-and-down  cliff  of  a 
thousand  feet,  over  which  a  stream  pitched  itself  in 
descending  veils  of  mist. 

And  here  he  encountered  more  smoke,  floating 
lazily  upward  in  the  warm  sunshine  beyond  an  out 
put  of  rock.  As  he  came  around  the  corner  he  heard 
a  light,  metallic  tap-tapping  and  a  merry  whistling 
that  kept  the  beat.  Then  he  saw  the  man,  an  up 
turned  shoe  between  his  knees,  into  the  sole  of  which 
he  was  driving  hob-spikes. 

"  Hello !  "  was  the  stranger's  greeting,  and  Smoke's 
heart  went  out  to  the  man  in  ready  liking.  "  Just 


176  SMOKE  BELLEW 

in  time  for  a  snack.  There  's  coffee  in  the  pot,  a 
couple  of  cold  flapjacks,  and  some  jerky." 

"  I  '11  go  you  if  I  lose,"  was  Smoke's  acceptance, 
as  he  sat  down.  "  I  've  been  rather  skimped  on  the 
last  several  meals,  but  there  's  oodles  of  grub  over  in 
the  cabin." 

"  Across  the  lake  ?  That 's  what  I  was  heading 
for." 

"  Seems  Surprise  Lake  is  becoming  populous," 
Smoke  complained,  emptying  the  coffee-pot. 

"Go  on,  you're  joking,  aren't  you?"  the  man 
said,  astonishment  painted  on  his  face. 

Smoke  laughed.  "  That 's  the  way  it  takes  every 
body.  You  see  those  high  ledges  across  there  to  the 
northwest  ?  There  's  where  I  first  saw  it.  No  warn 
ing.  Just  suddenly  caught  the  view  of  the  whole 
lake  from  there.  I  'd  given  up  looking  for  it,  too." 

"  Same  here,"  the  other  agreed.  "  I  'd  headed  back 
and  was  expecting  to  fetch  the  Stewart  last  night, 
when  out  I  popped  in  sight  of  the  lake.  If  that 's 
it,  where  's  the  Stewart  ?  And  where  have  I  been  all 
the  time  ?  And  how  did  you  come  here  ?  And  what 's 
your  name  ?  " 

"  Bellew.     Kit  Bellew." 

"  Oh !  I  know  you."  The  man's  eyes  and  face 
were  bright  with  a  joyous  smile,  and  his  hand  flashed 
eagerly  out  to  Smoke's.  "  I  Ve  heard  all  about  you." 

"  Been  reading  police-court  news,  I  see,"  Smoke 
sparred  modestly. 

"  Nope."  The  man  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 
"  Merely  recent  Klondike  history.  I  mi^ht  have 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  177 

recognized  you  if  you  'd  been  shaved.  I  watched  you 
putting  it  all  over  the  gambling  crowd  when  you 
were  bucking  roulette  in  the  Elkhorn.  My  name  's 
Carson  —  Andy  Carson ;  and  I  can't  begin  to  tell  you 
how  glad  I  am  to  meet  up  with  you." 

He  was  a  slender  man,  wiry  with  health,  with  quick 
black  eyes  and  a  magnetism  of  camaraderie. 

"  And  this  is  Surprise  Lake  ?  "  he  murmured  in 
credulously. 

"  It  certainly  is." 

"  And  its  bottom  's  buttered  with  gold  ?  " 

"  Sure.  There 's  some  of  the  churning."  Smoke 
dipped  in  his  overalls  pocket  and  brought  forth  half 
a  dozen  nuggets.  "  That 's  the  stuff.  All  you  have 
to  do  is  go  down  to  bottom,  blind  if  you  want  to,  and 
pick  up  a  handful.  Then  you  Ve  got  to  run  half  a 
mile  to  get  up  your  circulation." 

"  Well,  gosh-dash  my  dingbats,  if  you  have  n't 
beaten  me  to  it,"  Carson  swore  whimsically,  but  his 
disappointment  was  patent.  "  An'  I  thought  I  'd 
scooped  the  whole  caboodle.  Anyw^ay,  I  Ve  had  the 
fun  of  getting  here." 

"  Fun!  "  Smoke  cried.  "  Why,  if  we  can  ever  get 
our  hands  on  all  that  bottom,  we  '11  make  Rockefeller 
look  like  thirty  cents." 

"  But  it 's  yours,"  was  Carson's  objection. 

"  Nothing  to  it,  my  friend.  You  Ve  got  to  realize 
that  no  gold  deposit  like  it  has  been  discovered  in 
all  the  history  of  mining.  It  will  take  you  and  me 
and  my  partner  and  all  the  friends  we  Ve  got  to  lay 
our  hands  on  it.  All  Bonanza  and  Eldorado,  dumped 


1 78  SMOKE  BELLEW 

together,  would  n't  be  richer  than  half  an  acre  down 
here.  The  problem  is  to  drain  the  lake.  It  will  take 
millions.  And  there  's  only  one  thing  I  'm  afraid  of. 
There  's  so  much  of  it  that  if  we  fail  to  control  the 
output  it  will  bring  about  the  demonetization  of  gold." 

"  And  you  tell  me  — "  Carson  broke  off,  speechless 
and  amazed. 

"  And  glad  to  have  you.  It  will  take  a  year  or  two, 
with  all  the  money  we  can  raise,  to  drain  the  lake. 
It  can  be  done.  I  've  looked  over  the  ground.  But 
it  will  take  every  man  in  the  country  that 's  willing 
to  work  for  wages.  We  '11  need  an  army,  and  we 
need  right  now  decent  men  in  on  the  ground  floor. 
Are  you  in  ?  " 

"  Am  I  in  ?  Don't  I  look  it  ?  I  feel  so  much  like 
a  millionaire  that  I  'm  real  timid  about  crossing  that 
big  glacier.  Could  n't  afford  to  break  my  neck  now. 
Wish  I  had  some  more  of  those  hob-spikes.  I  was 
just  hammering  the  last  in  when  you  came  along. 
How's  yours?  Let's  see." 

Smoke  held  up  his  foot. 

lf  Worn  smooth  as  a  skating-rink !  "  Carson  cried. 
'  You  Ve  certainly  been  hiking  some.  Wait  a  min 
ute,  and  I  '11  pull  some  of  mine  out  for  you." 

But  Smoke  refused  to  listen.  "  Besides,"  he  said, 
"  I  've  got  about  forty  feet  of  rope  cached  where  we 
take  the  ice.  My  partner  and  I  used  it  coming  over. 
It  will  be  a  cinch." 

It  was  a  hard,  hot  climb.  The  sun  blazed  dazzlingly 
on  the  ice-surface,  and  with  streaming  pores  they 
panted  from  the  exertion.  There  were  places,  criss- 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  179 

crossed  by  countless  fissures  and  crevasses,  where  an 
hour  of  dangerous  toil  advanced  them  no  more  than 
a  hundred  yards.  At  two  in  the  afternoon,  beside  a 
pool  of  water  bedded  in  the  ice,  Smoke  called  a  halt. 

"  Let 's  tackle  some  of  that  jerky,"  he  said.  "  I  Ve 
been  on  short  allowance,  and  my  knees  are  shaking. 
Besides,  we  're  across  the  worst.  Three  hundred 
yards  wrill  fetch  us  to  the  rocks,  and  it 's  easy  going, 
except  for  a  couple  of  nasty  fissures  and  one  bad  one 
that  heads  us  down  toward  the  bulge.  There  's  a 
weak  ice-bridge  there,  but  Shorty  and  I  managed  it." 

Over  the  jerky,  the  two  men  got  acquainted,  and 
Andy  Carson  unbosomed  himself  of  the  story  of  his 
life.  "  I  just  knew  I  'd  find  Surprise  Lake,"  he  mum 
bled  in  the  midst  of  mouthfuls.  "  I  had  to.  I  missed 
the  French  Hill  Benches,  the  Big  Skookum,  and  Monte 
Cristo,  and  then  it  was  Surprise  Lake  or  bust.  And 
here  I  am.  My  wife  knew  I  'd  strike  it.  I  Ve  got 
faith  enough,  but  hers  knocks  mine  galleywest.  She  's 
a  corker,  a  crackerjack  —  dead  game,  grit  to  her 
finger-ends,  never-say-die,  a  fighter  from  the  drop 
of  the  hat,  the  one  woman  for  me,  true  blue  and 
all  the  rest.  Take  a  look  at  that." 

He  sprung  open  his  wratch,  and  on  the  inside  cover 
Smoke  saw  the  small,  pasted  photograph  of  a  bright- 
haired  woman,  framed  on  either  side  by  the  laughing 
face  of  a  child. 

"Boys?"  he  queried. 

"  Boy  and  girl,"  Carson  answered  proudly.  "  He  's 
a  year  and  a  half  older."  He  sighed.  ""  They  might 
have  been  some  grown,  but*  we  had  to  w^ait.  You 


i8o  SMOKE  BELLEW 

see,  she  was  sick.  Lungs.  But  she  put  up  a  fight. 
What  'd  we  know  about  such  stuff  ?  I  was  clerking, 
railroad  clerk,  Chicago,  when  we  got  married.  Her 
folks  were  tuberculous.  Doctors  did  n't  know  much 
in  those  days.  They  said  it  was  hereditary.  All  her 
family  had  it.  Caught  it  from  each  other,  only  they 
never  guessed  it.  Thought  they  were  born  with  it. 
Fate.  She  and  I  lived  with  them  the  first  couple  of 
years.  I  was  n't  afraid.  No  tuberculosis  in  my 
family.  And  I  got  it.  That  set  me  thinking.  It 
was  contagions.  I  caught  it  from  breathing  their  air. 

"  We  talked  it  over,  she  and  I.  Then  I  jumped 
the  family  doctor  and  consulted  an  up-to-date  expert. 
He  told  me  what  I  'd  figured  out  for  myself,  and  said 
Arizona  was  the  place  for  us.  We  pulled  up  stakes 
and  went  down  —  no  money,  nothing.  I  got  a  job 
sheep-herding,  and  left  her  in  town  —  a  lung  town. 
It  was  filled  to  spilling  with  lungers. 

"Of  course,  living  and  sleeping  in  the  clean  open, 
I  started  right  in  to  mend.  I  was  away  months  at  a 
time.  Every  time  I  came  back,  she  was  worse.  She 
just  could  n't  pick  up.  But  we  were  learning.  I 
jerked  her  out  of  that  town,  and  she  went  to  sheep- 
herding  with  me.  In  four  years,  winter  and  summer, 
cold  and  heat,  rain,  snow,  and  frost,  and  all  the  rest, 
we  never  slept  under  a  roof,  and  we  were  moving 
camp  all  the  time.  You  ought  to  have  seen^the  change 
—  brown  as  berries,  lean  as  Indians,  tough  as  raw 
hide.  When  we  figured  we  were  cured,  we  pulled  out 
for  San  Francisco.  But  we  were  too  previous.  By 
the  second  month  we  both  had  slight  hemorrhages. 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  181 

We  flew  the  coop  back  to  Arizona  and  the  sheep. 
Two  years  more  of  it.  That  fixed  us.  Perfect  cure. 
All  her  family  's  dead.  Would  n't  listen  to  us. 

"  Then  we  jumped  cities  for  keeps.  Knocked 
around  on  the  Pacific  coast  and  southern  Oregon 
looked  good  to  us.  We  settled  in  the  Rogue  River 
Valley  —  apples.  There  's  a  big  future  there,  only 
nobody  knows  it.  I  got  my  land  —  on  time,  of  course 
— for  forty  an  acre.  Ten  years  from  now  it  '11  be 
worth  five  hundred. 

"  We  Ve  done  some  almighty  hustling.  Takes 
money,  and  we  had  n't  a  cent  to  start  with,  you  know 
—  had  to  build  a  house  and  barn,  get  horses  and  plows, 
and  all  the  rest.  She  taught  school  two  years.  Then 
the  boy  came.  But  we  've  got  it.  You  ought  to  see 
those  trees  we  planted  —  a  hundred  acres  of  them, 
almost  mature  now.  But  it 's  all  been  outgo,  and  the 
mortgage  working  overtime.  That 's  why  I  'm  here. 
She  'd  V  come  along  only  for  the  kids  and  the  trees. 
She  's  handlin'  that  end,  and  here  I  am,  a  gosh-danged 
expensive  millionaire  —  in  prospect." 

He  looked  happily  across  the  sun-dazzle  on  the  ice 
to  the  green  water  of  the  lake  along  the  farther  shore, 
took  a  final  look  at  the  photograph,  and  murmured : 

"  She  's  some  woman,  that.  She  's  hung  on.  She 
just  would  n't  die,  though  she  was  pretty  close  to  skin 
and  bone  all  wrapped  around  a  bit  of  fire  when  she 
went  out  with  the  sheep.  Oh,  she 's  thin  now. 
Never  will  be  fat.  But  it 's  the  prettiest  thinness  I 
ever  saw,  and  when  I  get  back,  and  the  trees  begin  to 
bear,  and  the  kids  get  going  to  school,  she  and  I  are 


182  SMOKE  BELLEW 

going  to  do  Paris.  I  don't  think  much  of  that  burg, 
but  she  's  just  hankered  for  it  all  her  life." 

"  Well,  here  's  the  goid  that  will  take  you  to  Paris," 
Smoke  assured  him.  "  All  we  've  got  to  do  is  to  get 
our  hands  on  it." 

Carson  nodded  with  glistening  eyes.  "  Say  —  that 
farm  of  ours  is  the  prettiest  piece  of  orchard  land  on 
all  the  Pacific  coast.  Good  climate,  too.  Our  lungs 
will  never  get  touched  again  there.  Ex-lungers  have 
to  be  almighty  careful,  you  know.  If  you  're  think 
ing  of  settling,  well,  just  take  a  peep  in  at  our  valley 
before  you  settle,  that's  all.  And  fishing!  Say!  — 
did  you  ever  get  a  thirty-five-pound  salmon  on  a  six- 
ounce  rod  ?  Some  fight,  bo',  some  fight !  " 

"  I  'm  lighter  than  you  by  forty  pounds,"  Carson 
said.  "  Let  me  go  first." 

They  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  crevasse.  It  was 
enormous  and  ancient,  fully  a  hundred  feet  across, 
with  sloping,  age-eaten  sides  instead  of  sharp-angled 
rims.  At  this  one  place  it  was  bridged  by  a  huge 
mass  of  pressure-hardened  snow  that  was  itself  half 
ice.  Even  the  bottom  of  this  mass  they  could  not 
see,  much  less  the  bottom  of  the  crevasse.  Crumbling 
and  melting,  the  bridge  threatened  imminent  collapse. 
There  were  signs  where  recent  portions  had  broken 
away,  and  even  as  they  studied  it  a  mass  of  half  a  ton 
dislodged  and  fell. 

"Looks  pretty  bad,"  Carson  admitted  with  an 
ominous  head-shake.  "  And  it  looks  much  worse  than 
if  I  was  n't  a  millionaire." 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  183 

"  But  we  've  got  to  tackle  it,"  Smoke  said. 
"  We  're  almost  across.  We  can't  go  back.  We  can't 
camp  here  on  the  ice  all  night.  And  there  's  no  other 
way.  Shorty  and  I  explored  for  a  mile  up.  It  was 
in  better  shape,  though,  when  we  crossed." 

"  It 's  one  'at  a  time,  and  me  first."  Carson  took 
the  part  coil  of  rope  from  Smoke's  hand.  "  You  '11 
have  to  cast  off.  I  '11  take  the  rope  and  the  pick. 
Gimme  your  hand  so  I  can  slip  down  easy." 

Slowly  and  carefully  he  lowered  himself  the  several 
feet  to  the  bridge,  where  he  stood,  making  final  ad 
justments  for  the  perilous  traverse.  On  his  back  was 
his  pack  outfit.  Around  his  neck,  resting  on  his 
shoulders,  he  coiled  the  rope,  one  end  of  which  was 
still  fast  to  his  waist. 

"  I  'd  give  a  mighty  good  part  of  my  millions  right 
now  for  a  bridge-construction  gang,"  he  said,  but  his 
cheery,  whimsical  smile  belied  the  words.  Also,  he 
added,  "  It 's  all  right;  I  'm  a  cat." 

The  pick,  and  the  long  stick  he  used  as  an  alpen 
stock,  he  balanced  horizontally  after  the  manner  of 
a  rope-walker.  He  thrust  one  foot  forward  tenta 
tively,  drew  it  back,  and  steeled  himself  with  a  visible 
physical  effort. 

"  I  wish  I  was  flat  broke,"  he  smiled  up.  "  If  ever 
I  get  out  of  being  a  millionaire  this  time,  I  '11  never 
be  one  again.  It 's  too  uncomfortable." 

"  It 's  all  right,"  Smoke  encouraged.  "  I  've  been 
over  it  before.  Better  let  me  try  it  first." 

"  And  you  forty  pounds  to  the  worse,"  the  little 
man  flashed  back.  "  I  '11  -be  all  right  in  a  minute. 


1 84  SMOKE  BELLEW 

I  'm  all  right  now."  And  this  time  the  nerving-up 
process  was  instantaneous.  "  Well,  here  goes  for 
Rogue  River  and  the  apples,"  he  said,  as  his  foot  went 
out,  this  time  to  rest  carefully  and  lightly  while  the 
other  foot  was  brought  up  and  past.  Very  gently  and 
circumspectly  he  continued  on  his  way  until  two- 
thirds  of  the  distance  was  covered.  Here  he  stopped 
to  examine  a  depression  he  must  cross,  at  the  bottom 
of  which  was  a  fresh  crack.  Smoke,  watching,  saw 
h;m  glance  to  the  side  and  down  into  the  crevasse  it 
self,  and  then  begin  a  slight  swaying. 

"  Keep  your  eyes  up !  "  Smoke  commanded  sharply. 
"Now!  Goon!" 

The  little  man  obeyed,  nor  faltered  on  the  rest  of 
the  journey.  The  sun-eroded  slope  of  the  farther 
edge  of  the  crevasse  was  slippery,  but  not  steep,  and 
he  worked  his  way  up  to  a  narrow  ledge,  faced  about, 
and  sat  down. 

"  Your  turn,"  he  called  across.  "  But  just  keep 
a-coming  and  don't  look  down.  That 's  what  got  my 
goat.  Just  keep  a-coming,  that 's  all.  And  get  a 
move  on.  It 's  almighty  rotten." 

Balancing  his  own  stick  horizontally,  Smoke  es 
sayed  the  passage.  That  the  bridge  was  on  its  last 
legs  was  patent.  He  felt  a  jar  under  foot,  a  slight 
movement  of  the  mass,  and  a  heavier  jar.  This  was 
followed  by  a  single  sharp  crackle.  Behind  him  he 
knew  something  was  happening.  If  for  no  other  rea 
son,  he  knew  it  by  the  strained,  tense  face  of  Carson. 
From  beneath,  thin  and  faint,  came  the  murmur  of 
running  water,  and  Smoke's  eyes  involuntarily 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  185 

wavered  to  a  glimpse  of  the  shimmering  depths. 
He  jerked  them  back  to  the  way  before  him.  Two- 
thirds  over,  he  came  to  the  depression.  The  sharp 
edges  of  the  crack,  but  slightly  touched  by  the  sun, 
showed  how  recent  it  was.  His  foot  was  lifted  to 
make  the  step  across,  when  the  crack  began  slowly 
widening,  at  the  same  time  emitting  numerous  sharp 
snaps.  He  made  the  step  quickly,  increasing  the 
stride  of  it,  but  the  worn  nails  of  his  shoe  skated  on 
the  farther  slope  of  the  depression.  He  fell  on  his  face, 
and  without  pause  slipped  down  and  into  the  crack,  his 
legs  hanging  clear,  his  chest  supported  by  the  stick 
which  he  had  managed  to  twist  crosswise  as  he  fell. 

His  first  sensation  was  the  nausea  caused  by  the 
sickening  up-leap  of  his  pulse;  his  first  idea  was  of 
surprise  that  he  had  fallen  no  farther.  Behind  him 
was  crackling  and  jar  and  movement  to  which  the 
stick  vibrated.  From  beneath,  in  the  heart  of  the 
glacier,  came  the  soft  and  hollow  thunder  of  the  dis 
lodged  masses  striking  bottom.  And  still  the  bridge, 
broken  from  its  farthest  support  and  ruptured  in  the 
middle,  held,  though  the  portion  he  had  crossed  tilted 
downward  at  a  pitch  of  twenty  degrees.  He  could 
see  Carson,  perched  on  his  ledge,  his  feet  braced 
against  the  melting  surface,  swiftly  recoiling  the  rope 
from  his  shoulders  to  his  hand. 

"  Wait !  "  he  cried.  "  Don't  move,  or  the  whole 
shooting-match  will  come  down." 

He  calculated  the  distance  with  a  quick  glance,  took 
the  bandana  from  his  neck  and  tied  it  to  the  rope, 
and  increased  the  length  by  a  second  bandana  from 


1 86  SMOKE  BELLEW 

his  pocket.  The  rope,  manufactured  from  sled-lash 
ings  and  short  lengths  of  plaited  rawhide  knotted  to 
gether,  was  both  light  and  strong.  The  first  cast  was 
lucky  as  well  as  deft,  and  Smoke's  fingers  clutched  it. 
He  evidenced  a  hand-over-hand  intention  of  crawling 
out  of  the  crack.  But  Carson,  who  had  refastened 
the  rope  around  his  own  waist,  stopped  him. 

"  Make  it  fast  around  yourself  as  well,"  he  ordered. 

"  If  I  go  I  '11  take  you  with  me,"  Smoke  objected. 

The  little  man  became  very  peremptory. 

"  You  shut  up,"  he  ordered.  "  The  sound  of  your 
voice  is  enough  to  start  the  whole  thing  going." 

"  If  I  ever  start  going — "  Smoke  began. 

"  Shut  up !  You  ain't  going  to  ever  start  going. 
Now  do  what  I  say.  That 's  right  —  under  the  shoul 
ders.  Make  it  fast.  Now !  Start !  Get  a  move  on, 
but  easy  as  you  go.  I  '11  take  in  the  slack.  You  just 
keep  a-coming.  That 's  it.  Easy.  Easy." 

Smoke  was  still  a  dozen  feet  away  when  the  final 
collapse  of  the  bridge  began.  Without  noise,  but  in 
a  jerky  way,  it  crumbled  to  an  increasing  tilt. 

"  Quick ! "  Carson  called,  coiling  in  hand-over 
hand  on  the  slack  of  the  rope  which  Smoke's  rush 
gave  him. 

When  the  crash  came,  Smoke's  fingers  were  claw 
ing  into  the  hard  face  of  the  wall  of  the  crevasse, 
while  his  body  dragged  back  with  the  falling  bridge. 
Carson,  sitting  up,  feet  wide  apart  and  braced,  was 
heaving  on  the  rope.  This  effort  swung  Smoke  in  to 
the  side  wall,  but  it  jerked  Carson  out  of  his  niche. 
Like  a  cat,  he  faced  about,  clawing  wildly  for  a  hold 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  187 

on  the  ice  and  slipping  down.  Beneath  him,  with 
forty  feet  of  taut  rope  between  them,  Smoke  was  claw 
ing  just  as  wildly;  and  ere  the  thunder  from  below 
announced  the  arrival  of  the  bridge,  both  men  had 
come  to  rest.  Carson  had  achieved  this  first,  and  the 
several  pounds  of  pull  he  was  able  to  put  on  the  rope 
had  helped  bring  Smoke  to  a  stop. 

Each  lay  in  a  shallow  niche,  but  Smoke's  was  so 
shallow  that,  tense  with  the  strain  of  flattening  and 
sticking,  nevertheless  he  would  have  slid  on  had  it 
not  been  for  the  slight  assistance  he  took  from  the 
rope.  He  was  on  the  verge  of  a  bulge  and  could  not 
see  beneath  him.  Several  minutes  passed,  in  which 
they  took  stock  of  the  situation  and  made  rapid  strides 
in  learning  the  art  of  sticking  to  wet  and  slippery  ice. 
The  little  man  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Gee !  "  he  said ;  and,  a  minute  later,  "  If  you  can 
dig  in  for  a  moment  and  slack  on  the  rope,  I  can  turn 
over.  Try  it." 

Smoke  made  'the  effort,  then  rested  on  the  rope 
again.  "  I  can  do  it,"  he  said.  "  Tell  me  when 
you  're  ready.  And  be  quick." 

"About  three  feet  down  is  holding  for  my  heels," 
Carson  said.  "  It  won't  take  a  moment.  Are  you 
ready?" 

"  Go  on." 

It  was  hard  work  to  slide  down  a  yard,  turn  over 
and  sit  up;  but  it  was  even  harder  for  Smoke  to  re 
main  flattened  and  maintain  a  position  that  from  in 
stant  to  instant  made  a  greater  call  upon  his  muscles. 
As  it  was,  he  could  feel  the  almost  perceptible  begin- 


1 88  SMOKE  BELLE W 

ning  of  the  slip  when  the  rope  tightened  and  he  looked 
up  into  his  companion's  face.  Smoke  noted  the  yel 
low  pallor  of  sun-tan  forsaken  by  the  blood,  and  won 
dered  what  his  own  complexion  was  like.  But  when 
he  saw  Carson,  with  shaking  fingers,  fumble  for  his 
sheath-knife,  he  decided  the  end  had  come.  The  man 
was  in  a  funk  and  was  going  to  cut  the  rope. 

"  Don't  m-mind  m-m-me,"  the  little  man  chattered. 
"  I  ain't  scared.  It 's  only  my  nerves,  gosh-dang 
them.  I  '11  b-b-be  all  right  in  a  minute." 

And  Smoke  watched  him,  doubled  over,  his  shoul 
ders  between  his  knees,  shivering  and  awkward,  hold 
ing  a  slight  tension  on  the  rope  with  one  hand  while 
with  the  other  he  hacked  and  gouged  holes  for  his 
heels  in  the  ice. 

"  Carson/'  he  breathed  up  to  him,  "  you  're  some 
bear,  some  bear." 

The  answering  grin  was  ghastly  and  pathetic.  "  I 
never  could  stand  height,"  Carson  confessed.  "  It 
always  did  get  me.  Do  you  mind  if  I  stop  a  minute 
and  clear  my  head  ?  Then  I  '11  make  those  heel-holds 
deeper  so  I  can  heave  you  up." 

Smoke's  heart  warmed.  "  Look  here,  Carson. 
The  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  cut  the  rope.  You  can 
never  get  me  up,  and  there  's  no  use  both  of  us  being 
lost.  You  can  make  it  out  with  your  knife." 

"You  shut  up!"  was  the  hurt  retort.  "Who's 
running  this  ?  " 

And  Smoke  could  not  help  but  see  that  anger  was 
a  good  restorative  for  the  other's  nerves.  As  for 
himself,  it  was  the  more  nerve-racking  strain,  lying 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  189 

plastered  against  the  ice  with  nothing  to  do  but  strive 
to  stick  on. 

A  groan  and  a  quick  cry  of  "  Hold  on !  "  warned 
him.  With  face  pressed  against  the  ice,  he  made  a 
supreme  sticking  effort,  felt  the  rope  slacken,  and 
knew  Carson  was  slipping  toward  him.  He  did  not 
dare  look  up  until  he  felt  the  rope  tighten  and  knew 
the  other  had  again  come  to  rest. 

"  Gee,  that  was  a  near  go,"  Carson  chattered.  "  I 
came  down  over  a  yard.  Now  you  wait.  I  've  got 
to  dig  new  holds.  If  this  danged  ice  was  n't  so  melty 
we  'd  be  hunky-dory." 

Holding  the  few  pounds  of  strain  necessary  for 
Smoke  with  his  left  hand,  the  little  man  jabbed  and 
chopped  at  the  ice  with  his  right.  Ten  minutes  of 
this  passed. 

"  Now,  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  Ve  done,"  Carson  called 
down.  "  I  've  made  heel-holds  and  hand-holes  for 
you  alongside  of  me.  I  'm  going  to  heave  the  rope 
in  slow  and  easy,  and  you  just  come  along  sticking 
an'  not  too  fast.  I  '11  tell  you  what,  first  of  all.  I  '11 
take  you  on  the  rope  and  you  worry  out  of  that  pack. 
Get  me?" 

Smoke  nodded,  and  with  infinite  care  unbuckled  his 
pack-straps.  With  a  wriggle  of  the  shoulders  he  dis 
lodged  the  pack,  and  Carson  saw  it  slide  over  the  bulge 
and  out  of  sight. 

"  Now,  I  'm  going  to  ditch  mine,"  he  called  down. 
'  You  just  take  it  easy  and  wait." 

Five  minutes  later  the  upward  struggle  began. 
Smoke,  after  drying  his  hands  on  the  insides  of  his 


190  SMOKE  BELLEW 

arm-sleeves,  clawed  into  the  climb — •  bellied,  and 
clung,  and  stuck,  and  plastered  —  sustained  and  helped 
by  the  pull  of  the  rope.  Alone,  he  could  not  have 
advanced.  Despite  his  muscles,  because  of  his 
forty  pounds'  handicap,  he  could  not  cling  as  did 
Carson.  A  third  of  the  way  up,  where  the  pitch 
was  steeper  and  the  ice  less  eroded,  he  felt  the  strain 
on  the  rope  decreasing.  He  moved  slower  and  slower. 
Here  was  no  place  to  stop  and  remain.  His  most 
desperate  effort  could  not  prevent  the  stop,  and  he 
could  feel  the  down-slip  beginning. 

"  I  'm  going,"  he  called  up. 

"  So  am  I,"  was  the  reply,  gritted  through  Carson's 
teeth. 

"  Then  cast  loose." 

Smoke  felt  the  rope  tauten  in  a  futile  effort,  then 
the  pace  quickened,  and  as  he  went  past  his  previous 
lodgment  and  over  the  bulge  the  last  glimpse  he 
caught  of  Carson  he  was  turned  over,  with  madly 
moving  hands  and  feet  striving  to  overcome  the  down 
ward  draw.  To  Smoke's  surprise,  as  he  went  over 
the  bulge,  there  was  no  sheer  fall.  The  rope  re 
strained  him  as  he  slid  down  a  steeper  pitch,  which 
quickly  eased  until  he  came  to  a  halt  in  another  niche 
on  the  verge  of  another  bulge.  Carson  was  now  out 
of  sight,  ensconced  in  the  place  previously  occupied 
by  Smoke. 

"  Gee !  "  he  could  hear  Carson  shiver.     "  Gee !  " 

An  interval  of  quiet  followed,  and  then  Smoke 
could  feel  the  rope  agitated. 

are  you  doing?  "  he  called  up. 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  191 

"  Making  more  hand-  and  foot-holds."  came  the 
trembling  answer.  "  You  just  wait.  I  '11  have  you 
up  here  in  a  jiffy.  Don't  mind  the  way  I  talk.  I  'm 
just  excited.  But  I  'm  all  right.  You  wait  and  see." 
'  You  're  holding  me  by  main  strength/'  Smoke 
argued.  "  Soon  or  late,  with  the  ice  melting,  you  '11 
slip  down  after  me.  The  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to 
cut  loose.  Hear  me !  There  's  no  use  both  of  us  go 
ing.  Get  that?  You're  the  biggest  little  man  in 
creation,  but  you  've  done  your  best.  You  cut  loose." 

"  You  shut  up.  I  'm  going  to  make  holes  this  time 
deep  enough  to  haul  up  a  span  of  horses." 

"  You  've  held  me  up  long  enough,"  Smoke  urged. 
"Let  me  go." 

"  How  many  times  have  I  held  you  up  ?  "  came  the 
truculent  query. 

"  Some  several,  and  all  of  them  too  many.  You  Ve 
been  coming  down  all  the  time." 

"  And  I  've  been  learning  the  game  all  the  time. 
I  'm  going  on  holding  you  up  until  we  get  out  of  here. 
Savvy?  When  God  made  me  a  light-weight  I  guess 
he  knew  what  he  was  about.  Now,  shut  up.  I  'm 
busy." 

Several  silent  minutes  passed.  Smoke  could  hear 
the  metallic  strike  and  hack  of  the  knife  and  occa 
sional  driblets  of  ice  slid  over  the  bulge  and  came  down 
to  him.  Thirsty,  clinging  on  hand  and  foot,  he 
caught  the  fragments  in  his  mouth  and  melted  them 
to  water,  which  he  swallowed. 

He  heard  a  gasp  that  slid  into  a  groan  of  despair, 
and  felt  a  slackening  of  the  rope  that  made  him  claw. 


IQ2  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Immediately  the  rope  tightened  again.  Straining  his 
eyes  in  an  upward  look  along  the  steep  slope,  he 
stared  a  moment,  then  saw  the  knife,  point  first,  slide 
over  the  verge  of  the  bulge  and  down  upon  him.  He 
tucked  his  cheek  to  it,  shrank  from  the  pang  of  cut 
flesh,  tucked  more  tightly,  and  felt  the  knife  come  to 
rest. 

"  I  'm  a  slob,"  came  the  wail  down  the  crevasse. 

"  Cheer  up,  I  've  got  it,"  Smoke  answered. 

"  Say!  Wait!  I  've  a  lot  of  string  in  my  pocket. 
I  '11  drop  it  down  to  you,  and  you  send  the  knife  up." 

Smoke  made  no  reply.  He  was  battling  with  a  sud 
den  rush  of  thought. 

"  Hey !  You !  Here  comes  the  string.  Tell  me 
when  you  Ve  got  it." 

A  small  pocket-knife,  weighted  on  the  end  of  the 
string,  slid  down  the  ice.  Smoke  got  it,  opened  the 
larger  blade  by  a  quick  effort  of  his  teeth  and  one 
hand,  and  made  sure  that  the  blade  was  sharp.  Then 
he  tied  the  sheath-knife  to  the  end  of  the  string. 

"Haul  away!"  he  called. 

With  strained  eyes  he  saw  the  upward  progress  of 
the  knife.  But  he  saw  more  —  a  little  man,  afraid 
and  indomitable,  who  shivered  and  chattered,  whose 
head  swam  with  giddiness,  and  who  mastered  his 
qualms  and  distresses  and  played  a  hero's  part.  Not 
since  his  meeting  with  Shorty  had  Smoke  so  quickly 
liked  a  man.  Here  was  a  proper  meat-eater,  eager 
with  friendliness,  generous  to  destruction,  with  a  grit 
that  shaking  fear  could  not  shake.  Then,  too,  he 
considered  the  situation  cold-bloodedly.  There  was 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  193 

no  chance  for  two.  Steadily,  they  were  sliding  into 
the  heart  of  the  glacier,  and  it  was  his  greater  weight 
that  was  dragging  the  little  man  down.  The  little 
man  could  stick  like  a  fly.  Alone,  he  could  save  him 
self. 

"  Bully  for  us !  "  came  the  voice  from  above,  down 
and  across  the  bulge  of  ice.  "  Now  we  '11  get  out  of 
here  in  two  shakes." 

The  awful  struggle  for  good  cheer  and  hope  in  Car 
son's  voice,  decided  Smoke. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  said  steadily,  vainly  striving 
to  shake  the  vision  of  Joy  Gastell's  face  from  his 
brain.  "  I  sent  that  knife  up  for  you  to  get  out  with. 
Get  that?  I'm  going  to  chop  loose  with  the  jack- 
knife.  It 's  one  or  both  of  us.  Get  that?  " 

"  Two  or  nothing,"  came  the  grim  but  shaky  re 
sponse.  "  If  you  '11  hold  on  a  minute — " 

"  I  've  held  on  for  too  long  now.  I  'm  not  married. 
I  have  no  adorable  thin  woman  nor  kids  nor  apple- 
trees  waiting  for  me.  Get  me?  Now,  you  hike  up 
and  out  of  that!  "  * 

"  Wait !  For  God's  sake,  wait !  "  Carson  screamed 
down.  "  You  can't  do  that !  Give  me  a  chance  to 
get  you  out.  Be  calm,  old  horse.  We  '11  make  the 
turn.  You  '11  see.  I  'm  going  to  dig  holds  that  '11 
lift  a  house  and  barn." 

Smoke  made  no  reply.  Slowly  and  gently,  fasci 
nated  by  the  sight,  he  cut  with  the  knife  until  one  of 
the  three  strands  popped  and  parted. 

"  What  are  you  doing?  "  Carson  cried  desperately. 
"If  you  cut,  I'll  never  forgive  you  —  never.  I  tell 


194  SMOKE  BELLEW 

you  it 's  two  or  nothing.  We  're  going  to  get  out. 
Wait!  For  God's  sake!" 

And  Smoke,  staring  at  the  parted  strand,  five  inches 
before  his  eyes,  knew  fear  in  all  its  weakness.  He 
did  not  want  to  die;  he  recoiled  from  the  shimmering 
abyss  beneath  him,  and  his  panic  brain  urged  all  the 
preposterous  optimism  of  delay.  It  was  fear  that 
prompted  him  to  compromise. 

"  All  right,"  he  called  up.  "  I  '11  wait  Do  your 
best.  But  I  tell  you,  Carson,  if  we  both  start  slipping 
again  I  'm  going  to  cut." 

"  Huh !  Forget  it.  When  we  start,  old  horse,  we 
start  up.  I  'm  a  porous  plaster.  I  could  stick  here 
if  it  was  twice  as  steep.  I  'm  getting  a  sizable  hole 
for  one  heel  already.  Now,  you  hush,  and  let  me 
work." 

The  slow  minutes  passed.  Smoke  centered  his 
soul  on  the  dull  hurt  of  a  hang-nail  on  one  of  his 
fingers.  He  should  have  clipped  it  away  that  morn 
ing  —  it  was  hurting  then  — *  he  decided ;  and  he  re 
solved,  once  clear  of  the  crevasse,  that  it  should  im 
mediately  be  clipped.  Then,  with  short  focus,  he 
stared  at  the  hang-nail  and  the  finger  with  a  new 
comprehension.  In  a  minute,  or  a  few  minutes  at 
best,  that  hang-nail,  that  finger,  cunningly  jointed  and 
efficient,  might  be  part  of  a  mangled  carcass  at  the 
bottom  of  the  crevasse.  Conscious  of  his  fear,  he 
hated  himself.  Bear-eaters  were  made  of  sterner 
stuff.  In  the  anger  of  self-revolt  he  all  buf  hacked 
at  the  rope  with  his  knife.  But  fear  made  him  draw 
back  the  hand  and  to  stick  himself  again,  trembling 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  195 

and  sweating,  to  the  slippery  slope.  To  the  fact  that 
he  was  soaking  wet  by  contact  with  the  thawing  ice 
he  tried  to  attribute  the  cause  of  his  shivering;  but 
he  knew,  in  the  heart  of  him,  that  it  was  untrue. 

A  gasp  and  a  groan  and  an  abrupt  slackening  of  the 
rope,  warned  him.  He  began  to  slip.  The  movement 
\vas  very  slow.  The  rope  tightened  loyally,  but  he 
continued  to  slip.  Carson  could  not  hold  him,  and 
was  slipping  with  him.  The  digging  toe  of  his 
farther-extended  fopt  encountered  vacancy,  and  he 
knew  that  it  was  over  the  straight-away  fall.  And  he 
knew,  too,  that  in  another  moment  his  falling  body 
would  jerk  Carson's  after  it. 

Blindly,  desperately,  all  the  vitality  and  life-love 
of  him  beaten  down  in  a  flashing  instant  by  a  shudder 
ing  perception  of  right  and  wrong,  he  brought  the 
knife-edge  across  the  rope,  saw  the  strands  part,  felt 
himself  slide  more  rapidly,  and  then  fall. 

What  happened  then,  he  did  not  know.  He  was 
not  unconscious,  but  it  happened  too  quickly,  and  it 
was  unexpected.  Instead  of  falling  to  his  death,  his 
feet  almost  immediately  struck  in  water,  and  he  sat 
violently  do\vn  in  water  that  splashed  coolingly  on  his 
face.  His  first  impression  was  that  the  crevasse  was 
shallower  than  he  had  imagined  and  that  he  had  safely 
fetched  bottom.  But  of  this  he  was  quickly  disabused. 
The  opposite  wall  was  a  dozen  feet  away.  He  lay 
in  a  basin  formed  in  an  out- jut  of  the  ice- wall  by  melt 
ing  water  that  dribbled  and  trickled  over  the  bulge 
above  and  fell  sheer  down  a  distance  of  a  dozen  feet. 
This  had  hollowed  out  the  basin.  Where  he  sat  the 


196  SMOKE  BELLEW 

water  was  two  feet  deep,  and  it  was  flush  with  the  rim. 
He  peered  over  the  rim  and  looked  down  the  narrow 
chasm  hundreds  of  feet  to  the  torrent  that  foamed 
along  the  bottom. 

"  Oh,  why  did  you?  "  he  heard  a  wail  from  above. 

"  Listen,"  he  called  up.  "  I  'm  perfectly  safe,  sit 
ting  in  a  pool  of  water  up  to  my  neck.  And  here  's 
both  our  packs.  I  'm  going  to  sit  on  them.  There  's 
room  for  a  half-dozen  here.  If  you  slip,  stick  close 
and  you  '11  land.  In  the  meantime  you  hike  up  and 
get  out.  Go  to  the  cabin.  Somebody  's  there.  I  saw 
the  smoke.  Get  a  rope,  or  anything  that  will  make 
rope,  and  come  back  and  fish  for  me." 

"  Honest !  "  came  Carson's  incredulous  voice. 

"  Cross  my  heart  and  hope  to  die.  Now,  get  a 
hustle  on,  or  I  '11  catch  my  death  of  cold." 

Smoke  kept  himself  warm  by  kicking  a  channel 
through  the  rim  with  the  heel  of  his  shoe.  By  the 
time  he  had  drained  off  the  last  of  the  water,  a  faint 
call  from  Carson  announced  that  he  had  reached 
the  top. 

After  that  Smoke  occupied  himself  with  drying  his 
clothes.  The  late  afternoon  sun  beat  warmly  in  upon 
him,  and  he  wrung  out  his  garments  and  spread  them 
about  him.  His  match-case  was  water-proof,  and  he 
manipulated  and  dried  sufficient  tobacco  and  rice- 
paper  to  make  cigarettes. 

Two  hours  later,  perched  naked  on  the  two  packs 
and  smoking,  he  heard  a  voice  above  that  he  could  not 
fail  to  identify. 

"Oh,  Smoke!     Smoke!" 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  197 

"  Hello,  Joy  Gastell!  "  he  called  back.  "  Where  'd 
you  drop  from  ?  " 

"Are  you  hurt?" 

"  Not  even  any  skin  off !  " 

"  Father  's  paying  the  rope  down  now.  Do  you 
see  it?" 

"  Yes,  and  I  Ve  got  it,"  he  answered.  "  Now,  wait 
a  couple  of  minutes,  please." 

"What's  the  matter?"  came  her  anxious  query, 
after  several  minutes.  "  Oh,  I  know,  you  're  hurt." 

"  No,   I  'm  not.     I  'm  dressing." 

"Dressing?" 

"Yes.  I've  been  in  swimming.  Now!  Ready? 
Hoist  away !  " 

He  sent  up  the  two  packs  on  the  first  trip,  was  con 
sequently  rebuked  by  Joy  Gastell,  and  on  the  second 
trip  came  up  himself. 

Joy  Gastell  looked  at  him  \vith  glowing  eyes,  while 
her  father  and  Carson  were  busy  coiling  the  rope. 
"How  could  you  cut  loose  in  that  splendid  way?" 
she  cried.  "  It  was  —  it  was  glorious,  that 's  all." 

Smoke  waved  the  compliment  away  with  a  depre 
catory  hand. 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  she  persisted.  "  Carson 
told  me.  You  sacrificed  yourself  to  save  him." 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,"  Smoke  lied.  "  I  could  see 
that  swimming-pool  right  under  me  all  the  time." 


VIII 

THE    HANGING    OF    CULTUS    GEORGE 

THE  way  led  steeply  up  through  deep,  powdery 
snow  that  was  unmarred  by  sled-track  or  moc 
casin  impression.  Smoke,  in  the  lead,  pressed  the 
fragile  crystals  down  under  his  fat,  short  snow-shoes. 
The  task  required  lungs  and  muscle,  and  he  flung 
himself  into  it  with  all  his  strength.  Behind,  on  the 
surface  he  packed,  strained  the  string  of  six  dogs,  the 
steam-jets  of  their  breathing  attesting  their  labor  and 
the  lowness  of  the  temperature.  Between  the  wheel- 
dog  and  the  sled  toiled  Shorty,  his  weight  divided  be 
tween  the  guiding  gee-pole  and  the  haul,  for  he  was 
pulling  with  the  dogs.  Every  half-hour  he  and  Smoke 
exchanged  places,  for  the  snow-shoe  work  was  even 
more  arduous  than  that  of  the  gee-pole. 

The  whole  outfit  was  fresh  and  strong.  It  was 
merely  hard  work  being  efficiently  done  —  the  break 
ing  of  a  midwinter  trail  across  a  divide.  On  this 
severe  stretch,  ten  miles  a  day  they  called  a  decent 
stint.  They  kept  in  condition,  but  each  night  crawled 
well  tired  into  their  sleeping-furs... .This  was  their 
sixth  day  out  from  the  lively  camp  of  Mucluc  on  the 
Yukon.  In  two  days,  with  the  loaded  sled,  they  had 
covered  the  fifty  miles  of  packed  trail  up  Moose  Creek. 
Then  had  come  the  struggle  with  the  four  feet  of  un- 

198 


THE  HANGING  OF  CULTUS  GEORGE     199 

touched  snow  that  was  really  not  snow,  but  frost- 
crystals,  so  lacking  in  cohesion  that  when  kicked  it 
flew  with  the  thin  hissing  of  granulated  sugar.  In 
three  days  they  had  wallowed  thirty  miles  up  Minnow 
Creek  and  across  the  series  of  low  divides  that  sep 
arate  the  several  creeks  flowing  south  into  Siwash 
River;  and  now  they  were  breasting  the  big  divide, 
past  the  Bald  Buttes,  where  the  way  would  lead  them 
down  Porcupine  Creek  to  the  middle  reaches  of  Milk 
River.  Higher  up  Milk  River,  it  was  fairly  rumored, 
were  deposits  of  copper.  And  this  was  their  goal  — 
a  hill  of  pure  copper,  half  a  mile  to  the  right  and 
up  the  first  creek  after  Milk  River  issued  from  a  deep 
gorge  to  flow  across  a  heavily  timbered  stretch  of 
bottom.  They  would  know  it  when  they  saw  it. 
One-Eyed  McCarthy  had  described  it  with  sharp  defi- 
niteness.  It  was  impossible  to  miss  it  —  unless  Mc 
Carthy  had  lied. 

Smoke  was  in  the  lead,  and  the  small  scattered 
spruce-trees  were  becoming  scarcer  and  smaller,  when 
he  saw  one,  dead  and  bone-dry,  that  stood  in  their 
path.  There  was  no  need  for  speech.  His  glance 
to  Shorty  was  acknowledged  by  a  stentorian 
"  Whoa !  "  The  dogs  stood  in  the  traces  till  they  saw 
Shorty  begin  to  undo  the  sled-lashings  and  Smoke 
attack  the  dead  spruce  with  an  ax ;  whereupon  the  ani 
mals  dropped  in  the  snow  and  curled  into  balls,  the 
bush  of  each  tail  curved  to  cover  four  padded  feet 
and  an  ice-rimmed  muzzle. 

The  men  worked  with  the  quickness  of  long  prac 
tice.  Gold-pan,  coffee-pot,  and  cooking-pail  were 


.jo  SMOKE  BELLEW 

soon  thawing  the  heaped  frost-crystals  into  water. 
Smoke  extracted  a  stick  of  beans  from  the  sled.  Al 
ready  cooked,  with  a  generous  admixture  of  cubes 
of  fat  pork  and  bacon,  the  beans  had  been  frozen  into 
this  portable  immediacy.  He  chopped  off  chunks  with 
an  ax,  as  if  it  were  so  much  firewood,  and  put  them 
into  the  frying-pan  to  thaw.  Solidly  frozen  sour 
dough  biscuits  were  likewise  placed  to  thaw.  In 
twenty  minutes  from  the  time  they  halted,  the  meal 
was  ready  to  eat. 

"  About  forty  below,"  Shorty  mumbled  through  a 
mouthful  of  beans.  "Say  —  I  hope  it  don't  get 
colder  —  or  warmer,  neither.  It 's  just  right  for  trail- 
breaking." 

Smoke  did  not  answer.  His  own  mouth  full  of 
beans,  his  jaws  working,  he  had  chanced  to  glance 
at  the  lead-dog,  lying  half  a  dozen  feet  away.  That 
gray  and  frosty  wolf  was  gazing  at  him  with  the  in 
finite  wistfulness  and  yearning  that  glimmers  and 
hazes  so  often  in  the  eyes  of  Northland  dogs.  Smoke 
knew  it  well,  but  never  got  over  the  unfathomable 
wonder  of  it.  As  if  to  shake  off  the  hypnotism,  he 
set  down  his  plate  and  coffee-cup,  went  to  the  sled, 
and  began  opening  the  dried-fish  sack. 

"Hey!"  Shorty  expostulated.  "What  V  you 
doin'?" 

"  Breaking  all  law,  custom,  precedent,  and  trail 
usage,"  Smoke  replied.  "  I  'm  going  to  feed  the  dogs 
in  the  midde  of  the  day  —  just  this  once.  They've 
worked  hard,  and  that  last  pull  to  the.  top  of  the  divide 
is  before  them.  Besides,  Bright  there  has  been  talk- 


THE  HANGING  OF  CULTUS  GEORGE    201 

ing  to  me,  telling  me  all  untellable  things  with  those 
eyes  of  his." 

Shorty  laughed  skeptically.  "  Go  on  an'  spoil  'em. 
Pretty  soon  you  '11  be  manicurin'  their  nails.  I  'd 
recommend  cold  cream  and  electric  massage  —  it 's 
great  for  sled-dogs.  And  sometimes  a  Turkish  bath 
does  'em  fine." 

"  I  've  never  done  it  before,"  Smoke  defended. 
"  And  I  won't  again.  But  this  once  I  'm  going  to. 
It 's  just  a  whim,  I  guess." 

"  Oh,  if  it 's  a  hunch,  go  to  it."  Shorty's  tones 
showed  how  immediately  he  had  been  mollified.  "  A 
man  's  always  got  to  follow  his  hunches." 

"  It  is  n't  a  hunch,  Shorty.  Bright  just  sort  of  got 
on  my  imagination  for  a  couple  of  twists.  He  told 
me  more  in  one  minute  with  those  eyes  of  his  than 
I  could  read  in  the  books  in  a  thousand  years.  His 
eyes  were  acrawl  with  the  secrets  of  life.  They  were 
just  squirming  and  wriggling  there.  The  trouble  is 
I  almost  got  them,  and  then  I  did  n't.  I  'm  no  wiser 
than  I  was  before,  but  I  was  near  them."  He  paused 
and  then  added,  "  I  can't  tell  you,  but  that  dog's  eyes 
were  just  spilling  over  with  cues  to  what  life  is,  and 
evolution,  and  star-dust,  and  cosmic  sap,  and  all  the 
rest  —  everything.'' 

"  Boiled  down  into  simple  American,  you  got  a 
hunch,"  Shorty  insisted. 

Smoke  finished  tossing  the  dried  salmon,  one  to  each 
dog,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  I  tell  you  yes,"  Shorty  argued.  "  Smoke,  it 's 
a  sure  hunch.  Something  's  goin'  to  happen  before 


202  SMOKE  BELLEW 

the  day  is  out.  You  '11  see.  And  them  dried  fish  '11 
have  a  bearinV 

:(  You  've  got  to  show  me,"  said  Smoke. 

"  No,  I  ain't.  The  clay  '11  take  care  of  itself  an* 
show  you.  Now  listen  to  what  I  'm  tellin'  you.  I 
got  a  hunch  myself  out  of  your  hunch.  I  '11  bet  eleven 
ounces  against  three  ornery  toothpicks  1 5m  right. 
When  I  get  a  hunch  I  ain't  a-scared  to  ride  it." 

"  You  bet  the  toothpicks,  and  I  '11  bet  the  ounces," 
Smoke  returned. 

"  Nope.  That  'd  be  plain  robbery.  I  win.  I 
know  a  hunch  when  it  tickles  me.  Before  the  day  's 
out  somethin'  '11  happen,  an'  them  fish  '11  have  a 
meanin'." 

"  Hell,"  said  Smoke,  dismissing  the  discussion  con 
temptuously. 

"  An'  it  '11  be  hell,"  Shorty  came  back.  "  An'  I  '11 
take  three  more  toothpicks  with  you  on  them  same 
odds  that  it  '11  be  sure-enough  hell." 

"  Done,"  said  Smoke. 

"  I  win,"  Shorty  exulted.  "  Chicken-feather  tooth 
picks  for  mine." 

An  hour  later  they  cleared  the  divide,  dipped  down 
past  the  Bald  Buttes  through  a  sharp  elbow-canyon, 
and  took  the  steep  open  slope  that  dropped  into  Porcu 
pine  Creek.  Shorty,  in  the  lead,  stopped  abruptly, 
and  Smoke  whoaed  the  dogs.  Beneath  them,  coming 
up,  was  a  procession  of  humans,  scattered  and  drag 
gled,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long. 

"  They  move  like  it  was  a  funeral,"  Shorty  noted. 

"  They  've  no  dogs,"  said  Smoke. 


THE  HANGING  OF  CULTUS  GEORGE    203 

"  Yep ;  there  's  a  couple  of  men  pullin'  on  a  sled." 

"  See  that  fellow  fall  down  ?  There  's  something 
the  matter,  Shorty,  and  there  must  be  two  hundred 
of  them." 

"  Look  at  'em  stagger  as  if  they  was  soused. 
There  goes  another." 

"  It  's  a  whole  tribe.     There  are  children  there." 

"  Smoke,  I  win,"  Shorty  proclaimed.  "  A  hunch 
is  a  hunch,  an'  you  can't  beat  it.  There  she  comes. 
Look  at  her !  —  surgin'  up  like  a  lot  of  corpses." 

The  mass  of  Indians,  at  sight  of  the  two  men,  had 
raised  a  weird  cry  of  joy  and  accelerated  its  pace. 

"  They  're  sure  tolerable  woozy,"  commented 
Shorty.  "  See  'em  fallin'  down  in  lumps  and 
bunches." 

"  Look  at  the  face  of  that  first  one,"  Smoke  said. 
"  It 's  starvation  —  that 's  what 's  the  matter  with 
them.  They  've  eaten  their  dogs." 

"What '11  we  do?     Run  for  it?" 

"  And  leave  the  sled  and  dogs  ?  "  Smoke  demanded 
reproachfully. 

"  They  '11  sure  eat  us  if  we  don't.  They  look  hun 
gry  enough  for  it.  Hello,  old  skeeziks.  What 's 
wrong  with  you?  Don't  look  at  that  dog  that  way. 
No  cookin'-pot  for  him  —  savvy?  " 

The  forerunners  wrere  arriving  and  crowding  about 
them,  moaning  and  plainting  in  an  unfamiliar  jargon. 
To  Smoke  the  picture  was  grotesque  and  horrible. 
It  was  famine  unmistakable.  Their  faces,  hollow- 
cheeked  and  skin-stretched,  were  so  many  death's- 
heads.  More  and  more  arrived  and  crowded  about, 


204  SMOKE  BELLEW 

until  Smoke  and  Shorty  were  hemmed  in  by  the  wild 
crew.  Their  ragged  garments  of  skin  and  fur  were 
cut  and  slashed  away,  and  Smoke  knew  the  reason 
for  it  when  he  saw  a  wizened  child  on  a  squaw's 
back  that  sucked  and  chewed  a  strip  of  filthy  fur. 
Another  child  he  observed  steadily  masticating  a 
leather  thong. 

"Keep  off  there!  — keep  back!"  Shorty  yelled, 
falling  back  on  English  after  futile  attempts  with  the 
little  Indian  he  did  know. 

Bucks  and  squaws  and  children  tottered  and  swayed 
on  shaking  legs  and  continued  to  urge  in,  their  mad 
eyes  swimming  with  weakness  and  burning  with 
ravenous  desire.  A  woman,  moaning,  staggered  past 
Shorty  and  fell  with  spread  and  grasping  arms  on 
the  sled.  An  old  man  followed  her,  panting  and  gasp 
ing,  with  trembling  hands  striving  to  cast  off  the  sled 
lashings,  and  get  at  the  grub-sacks  beneath.  A  young 
man,  with  a  naked  knife,  tried  to  rush  in,  but  was 
flung  back  by  Smoke.  The  whole  mass  pressed  in 
upon  them,  and  the  fight  was  on. 

At  first  Smoke  and  Shorty  shoved  and  thrust  and 
threw  back.  Then  they  used  the  butt  of  the  dog-whip 
and  their  fists  on  the  food-mad  crowd.  And  all  this 
against  a  background  of  moaning  and  wailing  women 
and  children.  Here  and  there,  in  a  dozen  places, 
the  sled-lashings  were  cut.  Men  crawled  in  on  their 
bellies,  regardless  of  a  rain  of  kicks  and  blows,  and 
tried  to  drag  out  the  grub.  These  had  to  be  picked 
up  bodily  and  flung  back.  And  such  was  their  weak 
ness  that  they  fell  continually,  under  the  slightest 


THE  HANGING  OF  CULTUS  GEORGE    205 

pressures  or  shoves.     Yet  they  made  no  attempt  to 
injure  the  two  men  who  defended  the  sled. 

It  was  the  utter  weakness  of  the  Indians  that  saved 
Smoke  and  Shorty  from  being  overborne.  In  five 
minutes  the  wall  of  up-standing,  on-struggling  In 
dians  had  been  changed  to  heaps  of  fallen  ones  that 
moaned  and  gibbered  in  the  snow,  and  cried  and 
sniveled  as  their  staring,  swimming  eyes  focused  on 
the  grub  that  meant  life  to  them  and  that  brought 
the  slaver  to  their  lips.  And  behind  it  all  arose  the 
wailing  of  the  women  and  children. 

"  Shut  up !  Oh,  shut  up !  "  Shorty  yelled,  thrust 
ing  his  fingers  into  his  ears  and  breathing  heavily 
from  his  exertions.  "Ah,  you  would,  would  you!" 
was  his  cry,  as  he  plunged  forward  and  kicked  a  knife 
from  the  hand  of  a  man  who,  bellying  through  the 
snow,  was  trying  to  stab  the  lead-dog  in  the  throat. 

f<  This  is  terrible,"  Smoke  muttered. 

"  I  'm  all  het  up."  Shorty  replied,  returning  from 
the  rescue  of  Bright.  "  I  'm  real  sweaty.  An'  now 
what  V  we  goin'  to  do  with  this  ambulance  outfit  ?  " 

Smoke  shook  his  head,  and  then  the  problem  was 
solved  for  him.  An  Indian  crawled  forward,  his  one 
eye  fixed  on  Smoke  instead  of  on  the  sled,  and  in  it 
Smoke  could  see  the  struggle  of  sanity  to  assert  itself. 
Shorty  remembered  having  punched  the  other  eye, 
which  was  already  swollen  shut.  The  Indian  raised 
himself  on  his  elbow  and  spoke. 

"  Me  Carluk.  Me  good  Siwash.  Me  savvy  Bos 
ton  man  plenty.  Me  plenty  hungry.  All  people 
plenty  hungry.  All  people  no  savvy  Boston  man. 


206  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Me  savvy.  Me  eat  grub  now.  All  people  eat  grub 
now.  We  buy  'm  grub.  Got  'm  plenty  gold.  No 
got  'm  grub.  Summer,  salmon  no  come  Milk  River. 
Winter,  caribou  no  come.  No  grub.  Me  make  'm 
talk  all  people.  Me  tell  'em  plenty  Boston  man  come 
Yukon.  Boston  man  have  plenty  grub.  Boston 
man  like  'm  gold.  We  take  'm  gold,  go  Yukon,  Bos 
ton  man  give  'm  grub.  Plenty  gold.  Me  savvy  Bos 
ton  man  like  'm  gold." 

He  began  fumbling  with  wasted  fingers  at  the 
draw-string  of  a  pouch  he  took  from  his  belt. 

"  Too  much  make  'm  noise,"  Shorty  broke  in  dis 
tractedly.  "  You  tell  'm  squaw,  you  tell  'm  papoose, 
shut  'm  up  mouth." 

Carluk  turned  and  addressed  the  wailing  women. 
Other  bucks,  listening,  raised  their  voices  authorita 
tively,  and  slowly  the  squaws  stilled,  and  quieted  the 
children  near  to  them.  Carluk  paused  from  fumbling 
the  draw-string  and  held  up  his  fingers  many  times. 

"  Him  people  make  'm  die,"  he  said. 

And  Smoke,  following  the  count,  knew  that  sev 
enty-five  of  the  tribe  had  starved  to  death. 

"  Me  buy  'm  grub,"  Carluk  said,  as  he  got  the  pouch 
open  and  drew  out  a  large  chunk  of  heavy  metal. 
Others  were  following  his  example,  and  on  every  side 
appeared  similar  chunks.  Shorty  stared. 

"  Great  Jeminey !  "  he  cried.  "  Copper !  Raw,  red 
copper!  An'  they  think  it's  gold!" 

"  Him  gold,"  Carluk  assured  them  confidently,  his 
quick  comprehension  having  caught  the  gist  of 
Shorty's  exclamation. 


It  was  the  utter  weakness  of  the  Indians  that  saved  Smoke  and 
Shorty  from  being  over-borne. 


THE  HANGING  OF  CULTUS  GEORGE    209 

"  And  the  poor  devils  banked  everything  on  it," 
Smoke  muttered.  "  Look  at  it.  That  chunk  there 
weighs  forty  pounds.  They  Ve  got  hundreds  of 
pounds  of  it,  and  they  Ve  carried  it  when  they  did  n't 
have  strength  enough  to  drag  themselves.  Look 
here,  Shorty.  We  Ve  got  to  feed  them." 

"  Huh !  Sounds  easy.  But  how  about  statistics  ? 
You  an'  me  has  a  month's  grub,  which  is  six  meals 
times  thirty,  which  is  one  hundred  an'  eighty  meals. 
Here 's  two  hundred  Indians,  with  real,  full-grown 
appetites.  How  the  blazes  can  we  give  'm  one  meal 
even?" 

"There's  the  dog-grub,"  Smoke  answered.  "A 
couple  of  hundred  pounds  of  dried  salmon  ought  to 
help  out.  We  Ve  got  to  do  it.  They  Ve  pinned  their 
faith  on  the  white  man,  you  know." 

"  Sure,  an'  we  can't  throw  'm  down,"  Shorty 
agreed.  "  An'  we  got  two  nasty  jobs  cut  out  for  us, 
each  just  about  twicet  as  nasty  as  the  other.  One  of 
us  has  got  to  make  a  run  of  it  to  Mucluc  an'  raise  a 
relief.  The  other  has  to  stay  here  an'  run  the  hospi 
tal  an'  most  likely  be  eaten.  Don't  let  it  slip  your 
noodle  that  we  Ve  been  six  days  gettin'  here ;  an' 
travelin'  light,  an'  all  played  out,  it  can't  be  made  back 
in  less  'n  three  days." 

For  a  minute  Smoke  pondered  the  miles  of  the  way 
they  had  come,  visioning  the  miles  in  terms  of  time 
measured  by  his  capacity  for  exertion.  "  I  can  get 
there  to-morrow  night,"  he  announced. 

"  All  right,"  Shorty  acquiesced  cheerfully.  "  An' 
I  '11  stay  an'  be  eaten." 


210  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  But  I  'm  going  to  take  one  fish  each  for  the  dogs," 
Smoke  explained,  "  and  one  meal  for  myself." 

"  An'  you  '11  sure  need  it  if  you  make  Mucluc  to 
morrow  night." 

Smoke,  through  the  medium  of  Carluk,  stated  the 
program.  "  Make  fires,  long  fires,  plenty  fires,"  he 
concluded.  "  Plenty  Boston  man  stop  Mucluc.  Bos 
ton  man  much  good.  Boston  man  plenty  grub.  Five 
sleeps  I  come  back  plenty  grub.  This  man,  his  name 
Shorty,  very  good  friend  of  mine.  He  stop  here. 
He  big  boss  —  savvy?  " 

Carluk  nodded  and  interpreted. 

"  All  grub  stop  here.  Shorty,  he  give  'm  grub.  He 
boss  — .  savvy  ?  " 

Carluk  interpreted,  and  nods  and  guttural  cries  of 
agreement  proceeded  from  the  men. 

Smoke  remained  and  managed  until  the  full  swing 
of  the  arrangement  was  under  way.  Those  who 
were  able,  crawled  or  staggered  in  the  collecting  of 
firewood.  Long,  Indian  fires  were  built  that  accom 
modated  all.  Shorty,  aided  by  a  dozen  assistants, 
with  a  short  club  handy  for  the  rapping  of  hungry 
knuckles,  plunged  into  the  cooking.  The  women  de 
voted  themselves  to  thawing  snow  in  every  utensil  that 
could  be  mustered.  First,  a  tiny  piece  of  bacon  was 
distributed  all  around,  and,  next,  a  spoonful  of  sugar 
to  cloy  the  edge  of  their  razor  appetites.  Soon,  on 
a  circle  of  fires  drawn  about  Shorty,  many  pots  of 
beans  were  boiling,  and  he,  with  a  wrathful  eye  for 
what  he  called  renigers,  was  frying  and  apportioning 
the  thinnest  of  flapjacks. 


THE  HANGING  OF  CULTUS  GEORGE    211 

"  Me  for  the  big  cookin',"  was  his  farewell  to 
Smoke.  '  You  just  keep  a-hikin'.  Trot  all  the  way 
there  an'  run  all  the  way  back.  It  '11  take  you  to-day 
an'  to-morrow  to  get  there,  and  you  can't  be  back 
inside  of  three  days  more.  To-morrow  they  '11  eat 
the  last  of  the  dog-fish,  an'  then  there  '11  be  nary  a 
scrap  for  three  days.  You  gotta  keep  a-comin', 
Smoke.  You  gotta  keep  a-comin'." 

Though  the  sled  was  light,  loaded  only  with  six 
dried  salmon,  a  couple  of  pounds  of  frozen  beans  and 
bacon,  and  a  sleeping-robe,  Smoke  could  not  make 
speed.  Instead  of  riding  the  sled  and  running  the 
dogs,  he  was  compelled  to  plod  at  the  gee-pole.  Also, 
a  day  of  work  had  already  been  done,  and  the  fresh 
ness  and  spring  had  gone  out  of  the  dogs  and  himself. 
The  long  arctic  twilight  was  on  when  he  cleared  the 
divide  and  left  the  Bald  Buttes  behind. 

Down  the  slope  better  time  was  accomplished,  and 
often  he  was  able  to  spring  on  the  sled  for  short  inter 
vals  and  get  an  exhausting  six-mile  clip  out  of  the 
animals.  Darkness  caught  him  and  fooled  him  in  a 
wide-valleyed,  nameless  creek.  Here  the  creek  wan 
dered  in  broad  horseshoe  curves  through  the  flats,  and 
here,  to  save  time,  he  began  short-cutting  the  flats  in 
stead  of  keeping  to  the  creek-bed.  And  black  dark 
found  him  back  on  the  creek-bed  feeling  for  the  trail. 
After  an  hour  of  futile  searching,  too  wise  to  go  far 
ther  astray,  he  built  a  fire,  fed  each  dog  half  a 
fish,  and  divided  his  own  ration  in  half.  Rolled 
in  his  robe,  ere  quick  sleep  came  he  had  solved  the 
problem.  The  last  big  flat  he  had  short-cut  was  the 


SMOKE  BELLEW 

one  that  occurred  at  the  forks  of  the  creek.  He  had 
missed  the  trail  by  a  mile.  He  was  now  on  the  main 
stream  and  below  where  his  and  Shorty's  trail  crossed 
the  valley  and  climbed  through  a  small  feeder  to  the 
low  divide  on  the  other  side. 

At  the  first  hint  of  daylight  he  got  under  way,  break- 
fastless,  and  wallowed  a  mile  upstream  to  pick  up  the 
trail.  And  breakfastless,  man  and  dogs,  without  a 
halt,  for  eight  hours  held  back  transversely  across  the 
series  of  small  creeks  and  low  divides  and  down  Min 
now  Creek.  By  four  in  the  afternoon,  with  darkness 
fast-set  about  him,  he  emerged  on  the  hard-packed, 
running  trail  of  Moose  Creek.  Fifty  miles  of  it 
would  end  the  journey.  He  called  a  rest,  built  a  fire, 
threw  each  dog  its  half -salmon,  and  thawed  and  ate 
his  pound  of  beans.  Then  he  sprang  on  the  sled, 
yelled,  "  Mush ! "  and  the  dogs  went  out  strongly 
against  their  breast-bands. 

"  Hit  her  up,  you  huskies!  "  he  cried.  "  Mush  on! 
Hit  her  up  for  grub !  And  no  grub  short  of  Mucluc ! 
Dig  in,  you  wolves !  Dig  in !  " 

Midnight  had  gone  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  the  An 
nie  Mine.  The  main  room  was  comfortably  crowded, 
while  roaring  stoves,  combined  with  lack  of  ventila 
tion,  kept  the  big  room  unsanitarily  warm.  The  click 
of  chips  and  the  boisterous  play  at  the  craps-table 
furnished  a  monotonous  background  of  sound  to  the 
equally  monotonous  rumble  of  men's  voices  where 
they  sat  and  stood  about  and  talked  in  groups  and 
twos  and  threes.  The  gold-weighers  were  busy  at 


THE  HANGING  OF  CULTUS  GEORGE    213 

their  scales,  for  dust  was  the  circulating  medium,  and 
even  a  dollar  drink  of  whiskey  at  the  bar  had  to  be 
paid  for  to  the  weighers. 

The  walls  of  the  room  were  of  tiered  logs,  the  bark 
still  on,  and  the  chinking  between  the  logs,  plainly 
visible,  was  arctic  moss.  Through  the  open  door  that 
led  to  the  dance-room  came  the  rollicking  strains  of  a 
Virginia  reel,  played  by  a  piano  and  a  fiddle.  The 
drawing  of  Chinese  lottery  had  just  taken  place,  and 
the  luckiest  player,  having  cashed  at  the  scales,  was 
drinking  up  his  winnings  with  half  a  dozen  cronies. 
The  faro-  and  roulette-tables  were  busy  and  quiet. 
The  draw-poker  and  stud-poker  tables,  each  with  its 
circle  of  onlookers,  were  equally  quiet.  At  another 
table,  a  serious,  concentrated  game  of  Black  Jack  was 
on.  Only  from  the  craps-table  came  noise,  as  the  man 
who  played  rolled  the  dice,  full  sweep,  down  the  green 
amphitheater  of  a  table  in  pursuit  of  his  elusive  and 
long-delayed  point.  Ever  he  cried :  "  Oh !  you  Joe 
Cotton!  Come  a  four!  Come  a  Joe!  Little  Joe! 
Bring  home  the  bacon,  Joe !  Joe,  you  Joe,  you !  " 

Cultus  George,  a  big  strapping  Circle  City  Indian, 
leaned  distantly  and  dourly  against  the  log  wall.  He 
was  a  civilized  Indian,  if  living  like  a  white  man  con 
notes  civilization;  and  he  was  sorely  offended,  though 
the  offense  was  of  long  standing.  For  years  he  had 
done  a  white  man's  work,  had  done  it  alongside  of 
white  men,  and  often  had  done  it  better  than  they  did* 
He  wore  the  same  pants  they  wore,  the  same  hearty 
woolens  and  heavy  shirts.  He  sported  as  good  a 
watch  as  they,  parted  his  short  hair  on  the  side,  and 


2i4  SMOKE  BELLEW 

ate  the  same  food  —  bacon,  beans,  and  flour ;  and  yet 
he  was  denied  their  greatest  diversion  and  reward; 
namely,  whiskey.  Cultus  George  was  a  money- 
earner.  He  had  staked  claims,  and  bought  and  sold 
claims.  He  had  been  grub-staked,  and  he  had  ac 
corded  grub-stakes.  Just  now  he  was  a  dog-musher 
and  freighter,  charging  twenty-eight  cents  a  pound 
for  the  winter  haul  from  Sixty  Mile  to  Mucluc  —  and 
for  bacon  thirty-three  cents,  as  was  the  custom. 
His  poke  was  fat  with  dust.  He  had  the  price  of 
many  drinks.  Yet  no  barkeeper  would  serve  him. 
Whiskey,  the  hottest,  swiftest,  completest  gratifier  of 
civilization,  was  not  for  him.  Only  by  subterranean 
and  cowardly  and  expensive  ways  could  he  get  a 
drink.  And  he  resented  this  invidious  distinction,  as 
he  had  resented  it  for  years,  deeply.  And  he  was 
especially  thirsty  and  resentful  this  night,  while  the 
white  men  he  had  so  sedulously  emulated  he  hated 
more  bitterly  than  ever  before.  The  white  men  would 
graciously  permit  him  to  lose  his  gold  across  their 
gaming-tables,  but  for  neither  love  nor  money  coXild 
he  obtain  a  drink  across  their  bars.  Wherefore  he 
was  very  sober,  and  very  logical,  and  logically  sullen. 
The  Virginia  reel  in  the  dance-room  wound  to  a 
wild  close  that  interfered  not  with  the  three  camp 
drunkards  who  snored  under  the  piano.  "  All  couples 
promenade  to  the  bar !  "  was  the  caller's  last  cry  as 
the  music  stopped.  And  the  couples  were  so  prome 
nading  through  the  wide  doorway  into  the  main  room 
—  the  men  in  furs  and  moccasins,  the  women  in  soft 
fluffy  dresses,  silk  stockings,  and  dancing-slippers  — 


THE  HANGING  OF  CULTUS  GEORGE    215 

when  the  double  storm-doors  were  thrust  open,  and 
Smoke  Bellew  staggered  wearily  in. 

Eyes  centered  on  him,  and  silence  began  to  fall. 
He  tried  to  speak,  pulled  off  his  mittens  (which  fell 
dangling  from  their  cords),  and  clawed  at  the  frozen 
moisture  of  his  breath  which  had  formed  in  fifty  miles 
of  running.  He  halted  irresolutely,  then  went  over 
and  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  end  of  the  bar. 

Only  the  man  at  the  craps-table,  without  turning 
his  head,  continued  to  roll  the  dice  and  to  cry :  "  Oh ! 
you  Joe !  Come  on,  you  Joe !  "  The  gamekeeper's 
gaze,  fixed  on  Smoke,  caught  the  player's  attention, 
and  he,  too,  with  suspended  dice,  turned  and  looked. 

"  What 's  up,  Smoke?"  Matson,  the  owner  of  the 
Annie  Mine,  demanded. 

With  a  last  effort,  Smoke  clawed  his  mouth  free. 
"  I  got  some  dogs  out  there  —  dead  beat/'  he  said 
huskily.  "  Somebody  go  and  take  care  of  them,  and 
I  '11  tell  you  what 's  the  matter." 

In  a  dozen  brief  sentences,  he  outlined  the  situa 
tion.  The  craps-player,  his  money  still  lying  on  the 
table  and  his  slippery  Joe  Cotton  still  uncaptured,  had 
come  over  to  Smoke,  and  was  now  the  first  to  speak. 

"  We  gotta  do  something.  That 's  straight.  But 
what  ?  You  Ve  had  time  to  think.  What 's  your 
plan?  Spit  it  out." 

"  Sure,"  Smoke  assented.  "  Here  's  what  I  've  been 
thinking.  We  've  got  to  hustle  light  sleds  on  the 
jump.  Say  a  hundred  pounds  of  grub  on  each  sled. 
The  driver's  outfit  and  dog-grub  will  fetch  it  up  fifty 
more.  But  they  can  make  time.  Say  we  start  five 


216  SMOKE  BELLEW 

of  these  sleds  pronto  —  best  running  teams,  best 
mushers  and  trail-eaters.  On  the  soft  trail  the  sleds 
can  take  the  lead  turn  about.  They  've  got  to  start 
at  once.  At  the  best,  by  the  time  they  can  get  there, 
all  those  Indians  won't  have  had  a  scrap  to  eat  for 
three  days.  And  then,  as  soon  as  we  Ve  got  those 
sleds  off  we  '11  have  to  follow  up  with  heavy  sleds. 
Figure  it  out  yourself.  Two  pounds  a  day  is  the 
very  least  we  can  decently  keep  those  Indians  travel 
ing  on.  That 's  four  hundred  pounds  a  day,  and, 
with  the  old  people  and  the  children,  five  days  is  the 
quickest  time  we  can  bring  them  into  Mucluc.  Now 
what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

!<  Take  up  a  collection  to  buy  all  the  grub,"  said 
the  craps-player. 

"  I  '11  stand  for  the  grub,"  Smoke  began  impa 
tiently. 

"  Nope,"  the  other  interrupted.  "  This  ain't  your 
treat.  We  're  all  in.  Fetch  a  wash-basin  somebody. 
It  won't  take  a  minute.  An'  here  's  a  starter." 

He  pulled  a  heavy  gold-sack  from  his  pocket,  un 
tied  the  mouth,  and  poured  a  stream  of  coarse  dust 
and  nuggets  into  the  basin.  A  man  beside  him  caught 
his  hand  up  with  a  jerk  and  an  oath,  elevating  the 
mouth  of  the  sack  so  as  to  stop  the  run  of  the  dust. 
To  a  casual  eye,  six  or  eight  ounces  had  already  run 
into  the  basin. 

"  Don't  be  a  hawg,"  cried  the  second  man.  "  You 
ain't  the  only  one  with  a  poke.  Gimme  a  chance 
at  it." 

"  Huh !  "  sneered  the  craps-player.     "  You  'd  think 


THE  HANGING  OF  CULTUS  GEORGE    217 

it  was  a  stampede,  you  're  so  goshdanged  eager 
about  it." 

Men  crowded  and  jostled  for  the  opportunity  to 
contribute,  and  when  they  were  satisfied,  Smoke 
hefted  the  heavy  basin  with  both  hands  and  grinned. 

11  It  will  keep  the  whole  tribe  in  grub  for  the  rest 
of  the  winter,"  he  said.  "  Now  for  the  dogs.  Five 
light  teams  that  have  some  run  in  them." 

A  dozen  teams  were  volunteered,  and  the  camp,  as 
a  committee  of  the  whole,  bickered  and  debated,  ac 
cepted  and  rejected. 

"Huh!  Your  dray-horses!"  Long  Bill  Haskell 
was  told. 

"  They  can  pull,"  he  bristled  with  hurt  pride. 

"  They  sure  can,"  he  was  assured.  "  But  they 
can't  make  time  for  sour  apples.  They  Ve  got  theirs 
cut  out  for  them  bringing  up  the  heavy  loads." 

As  fast  as  a  team  was  selected,  its  owner,  with  half 
a  dozen  aids,  departed  to  harness  up  and  get  ready. 

One  team  was  rejected  because  it  had  come  in  tired 
that  afternoon.  One  owner  contributed  his  team,  but 
apologetically  exposed  a  bandaged  ankle  that  pre 
vented  him  from  driving  it.  This  team  Smoke  took, 
overriding  the  objection  of  the  crowed  that  he  was 
played  out. 

Long  Bill  Haskell  pointed  out  that  while  Fat  Ol- 
sen's  team  was  a  cracker  jack,  Fat  Olsen  himself  was 
an  elephant.  Fat  Olsen's  two  hundred  and  forty 
pounds  of  heartiness  was  indignant.  Tears  of  anger 
came  into  his  eyes,  and  his  Scandinavian  explosions 
could  not  be  stopped  until  he  was  given  a  place  in  the 


218  SMOKE  BELLEW 

heavy  division,  the  craps-player  j tumping  at  the  chance 
to  take  out  Olsen's  light  team. 

Five  teams  were  accepted  and  were  being  harnessed 
and  loaded,  but  only  four  drivers  had  satisfied  the 
committee  of  the  whole. 

:(  There  's  Cultus  George,"  some  one  cried.  "  He  's 
a  trail-eater,  and  he  's  fresh  and  rested." 

All  eyes  turned  upon  the  Indian,  but  his  face  was 
expressionless,  and  he  said  notning. 

"  You  '11  take  a  team,"  Smoke  said  to  him. 

Still  the  big  Indian  made  no  answer.  As  with  an 
electric  thrill,  it  ran  through  all  of  them  that  some 
thing  untoward  was  impending.  A  restless  shifting 
of  the  group  took  place,  forming  a  circle  in  which 
Smoke  and  Cultus  George  faced  each  other.  And 
Smoke  realized  that  by  common  consent  he  had  been 
made  the  representative  of  his  fellows  in  what  was 
taking  place,  in  what  was  to  take  place.  Also,  he 
was  angered.  It  was  beyond  him  that  any  human 
creature,  a  witness  to  the  scramble  of  volunteers, 
should  hang  back.  For  another  thing,  in  what  fol 
lowed,  Smoke  did  not  have  Cultus  George's  point  of 
view  —  did  not  dream  that  the  Indian  held  back  for 
any  reason  save  the  selfish,  mercenary  one. 

"Of  course  you  will  take  a  team,"  Smoke  said. 

"How  much?"  Cultus  George  asked. 

A  snarl,  spontaneous  and  general,  grated  in  the 
throats  and  twisted  the  mouths  of  the  miners.  At 
the  same  moment,  with  clenched  fists  or  fingers  crooked 
to  grip,  they  pressed  in  on  the  offender. 

"  Wait  a  bit,  boys,"   Smoke  cried.     "  Maybe  he 


THE  HANGING  OF  CULTUS  GEORGE    219 

does  n't  understand.  Let  me  explain  it  to  him.  Look 
here,  George.  Don't  you  see,  nobody  is  charging 
anything.  They  're  giving  everything  to  save  two 
hundred  Indians  from  starving  to  death."  He  paused, 
to  let  it  sink  home. 

"  How  much  ?  "  said  Cultus  George. 

"  Wait,  you  fellows !  Now  listen,  George.  We 
don't  want  you  to  make  any  mistake.  These  starving 
people  are  your  kind  of  people.  They  're  another 
tribe,  but  they  're  Indians  just  the  same.  Now  you  Ve 
seen  what  the  white  men  are  doing  — •  coughing  up 
their  dust,  giving  their  dogs  and  sleds,  falling  over 
one  another  to  hit  the  trail.  Only  the  best  men  can 
go  with  the  first  sleds.  Look  at  Fat  Olsen  there. 
He  was  ready  to  fight  because  they  would  n't  let  him 
go.  You  ought  to  be  mighty  proud  because  all  men 
think  you  are  a  number-one  musher.  It  is  n't  a  case 
of  how  much,  but  how  quick." 

"  How  much  ?  "  said  Cultus  George. 

"  Kill  him !  "  "  Bust  his  head !  "  "  Tar  and  feath 
ers  !  "  were  several  of  the  cries  in  the  wild  medley 
that  went  up,  the  spirit  of  philanthropy  and  good- 
fellowship  changed  to  brute  savagery  on  the  instant. 

In  the  storm-center '  Cultus  George  stood  imper 
turbable,  while  Smoke  thrust  back  the  fiercest  and 
shouted : 

"  Wait!  Who  's  running  this?  "  The  clamor  died 
away.  "  Fetch  a  rope,"  he  added  quietly. 

Cultus  George  shrugged  his  shoulders,  his  face 
twisting  tensely  in  a  sullen  and  incredulous  grin.  He 
knew  this  white-man  breed.  He  had  toiled  on  trail 


220  SMOKE  BELLEW 

with  it  and  eaten  its  flour  and  bacon  and  beans  too 
long  not  to  know  it.  It  was  a  law-abiding  breed. 
He  knew  that  thoroughly.  It  always  punished  the 
man  who  broke  the  law.  But  he  had  broken  no  law. 
He  knew  its  law.  He  had  lived  up  to  it.  He  had 
neither  murdered,  stolen,  nor  lied.  There  was  noth 
ing  in  the  white  man's  law  against  charging  a  price 
and  driving  a  bargain.  They  all  charged  a  price  and 
drove  bargains.  He  was  doing  nothing  more  than 
that,  and  it  was  the  thing  they  had  taught  him.  Be 
sides,  if  he  was  n't  good  enough  to  drink  with  them, 
then  he  was  not  good  enough  to  be  charitable  with 
them,  nor  to  join  them  in  any  other  of  their  foolish 
diversions. 

Neither  Smoke  nor  any  man  there  glimpsed  what 
lay  in  Cultus  George's  brain,  behind  his  attitude  and 
prompting  his  attitude.  Though  they  did  not  know 
it,  they  were  as  beclouded  as  he  in  the  matter  of  mutual 
understanding.  To  them,  he  was  a  selfish  brute;  to 
him,  they  were  selfish  brutes. 

When  the  rope  was  brought,  Long  Bill  Haskell,  Fat 
Olsen,  and  the  craps-player,  with  much  awkwardness 
and  angry  haste,  got  the  slip-noose  around  the  Indian's 
neck  and  rove  the  rope  over  a  rafter.  At  the  other 
end  of  the  dangling  thing  a  dozen  men  tailed  on, 
ready  to  hoist  away. 

Nor  had  Cultus  George  resisted.  He  knew  it  for 
what  it  was  —  bluff.  The  whites  were  strong  on  bluff. 
Was  not  draw-poker  their  favorite  game?  Did  they 
not  buy  and  sell  and  make  all  bargains  with  bluff? 
Yes ;  he  had  seen  a  white  man  do  business  with  a  look 


THE  HANGING  OF  CULTUS  GEORGE    221 

on  his  face  of  four  aces  and  in  his  hand  a  busted 
straight. 

"  Wait,"  Smoke  commanded.  "  Tie  his  hands. 
We  don't  want  him  climbing.'* 

More  bluff,  Cultus  George  decided,  and  passively 
permitted  his  hands  to  be  tied  behind  his  back. 

"  Now  it 's  your  last  chance,  George,"  said  Smoke. 
"  Will  you  take  out  the  team?  " 

"  How  much?  "  said  Cultus  George. 

Astounded  at  himself  that  he  should  be  able  to  do 
such  a  thing,  and  at  the  same  time  angered  by  the 
colossal  selfishness  of  the  Indian,  Smoke  gave  the 
signal.  Nor  was  Cultus  George  any  less  astounded 
when  he  felt  the  noose  tighten  with  a  jerk  and  swing 
him  off  the  floor.  His  stolidity  broke  on  the  instant. 
On  his  face,  in  quick  succession,  appeared  surprise,  dis 
may,  and  pain. 

Smoke  watched  anxiously.  Having  never  been 
hanged  himself,  he  felt  a  tyro  at  the  business.  The 
body  struggled  convulsively,  the  tied  hands  strove  to 
burst  the  bonds,  and  from  the  throat  came  unpleasant 
noises  of  strangulation.  Suddenly  Smoke  held  up  his 
hand. 

"  Slack  away !  "  he  ordered. 

Grumbling  at  the  shortness  of  the  punishment,  the 
men  on  the  rope  lowered  Cultus  George  to  the  floor. 
His  eyes  were  bulging,  and  he  was  tottery  on  his 
feet,  swaying  from  side  to  side  and  still  making  a 
fight '  with  his  hands.  Smoke  divined  what  w:as  the 
matter,  thrust  violent  fingers  between  the  rope  and 
the  neck,  and  brought  the  noose  slack  writh  a  jerk. 


222  SMOKE  BELLEW 

With  a  great  heave  of  the  chest,  Cultus  George  got  his 
first  breath. 

''  Will  you  take  that  team  out?  "  Smoke  demanded. 

Cultus  George  did  not  answer.  He  was  too  busy 
breathing. 

"  Oh,  we  white  men  are  hogs,"  Smoke  filled  in  the 
interval,  resentful  himself  at  the  part  he  was  compelled 
to  play.  :<  We  'd  sell  our  souls  for  gold,  and  all  that ; 
but  once  in  a  while  we  forget  about  it  and  turn  loose 
and  do  something  without  a  thought  of  how  much 
there  is  in  it.  And  when  we  do  that,  Cultus  George, 
watch  out.  What  we  want  to  know  now  is:  Are  you 
going  to  take  out  that  team  ?  " 

Cultus  George  debated  with  himself.  He  was  no 
coward.  Perhaps  this  was  the  extent  of  their  bluff, 
and  if  he  gave  in  now  he  was  a  fool.  And  while  he 
debated,  Smoke  suffered  from  secret  worry  lest  this 
stubborn  aborigine  would  persist  in  being  hanged. 

"  How  much  ?  "  said  Cultus  George. 

Smoke  started  to  raise  his  hand  for  the  signal. 

"  Me  go,"  Cultus  George  said  very  quickly,  before 
the  rope  could  tighten. 

"  An'  when  that  rescue  expedition  found  me," 
Shorty  told  it  in  the  Annie  Mine,  "  that  ornery  Cultus 
George  was  the  first  in,  beatin'  Smoke's  sled  by  three 
hours,  an'  don't  you  forget  it,  Smoke  comes  in  second 
at  that.  Just  the  same,  it  was  about  time,  when  I  heard 
Cultus  George  a-yellin'  at  his  dogs  from  the  top  of 
the  divide,  for  those  blamed  Siwashes  had  ate  my 
moccasins,  my  mitts,  the  leather  lacin's,  my  knife- 
sheath,  an'  some  of  'em  was  beginnin'  to  look  mighty 


THE  HANGING  OF  CULTUS  GEORGE     223 

hungry  at  me  —  me  bein'  better  nourished,  you  see. 
"An'  Smoke?  He  was  near  dead.  He  hustled 
around  a  while,  helpin'  to  start  a  meal  for  them  two 
hundred  sufferin'  Siwashes;  an'  then  he  fell  asleep, 
settin'  on  his  haunches,  thinkin'  he  was  feedin'  snow 
into  a  thawin'-pail.  I  fixed  him  my  bed,  an'  dang  me 
if  I  did  n't  have  to  help  him  into  it,  he  was  that  give 
out.  Sure  I  win  the  toothpicks.  Did  n't  them  dogs 
just  naturally  need  the  six  salmon  Smoke  fed  'em  at 
the  noonin'  ?  " 


IX 

THE   MISTAKE   OF   CREATION 

"\X7HOA!"   Smoke  yelled   at  the   dogs,   throwing 
his  weight  back  on  the  gee-pole  to  bring  the 
sled  to  a  halt. 

"  What 's  eatin'  you  now?"  Shorty  complained. 
f<  They  ain't  no  water  under  that  footing." 

"  No ;  but  look  at  that  trail  cutting  out  to  the  right," 
Smoke  answered.  "  I  thought  nobody  was  wintering 
in  this  section." 

The  dogs,  on  the  moment  they  stopped,  dropped  in 
the  snow  and  began  biting  out  the  partices  of  ice  from 
between  their  toes.  This  ice  had  been  water  five  min 
utes  before.  The  animals  had  broken  through  a  skein 
of  ice,  snow-powdered,  which  had  hidden  the  spring 
water  that  oozed  out  of  the  bank  and  pooled  on  top 
of  the  three-foot  winter  crust  of  Nordbeska  River. 

"  First  I  heard  of  anybody  up  the  Nordbeska," 
Shorty  said,  staring  at  the  all  but  obliterated  track  cov 
ered  by  two  feet  of  snow,  that  left  the  bed  of  the  river 
at  right  angles  and  entered  the  mouth  of  a  small 
stream  flowing  from  the  left.  "  Mebbe  they  're  hunt 
ers  and  pulled  their  freight  long  ago." 

Smoke  scooping  the  light  snow  away  with  mittened 
hands,  paused  to  consider,  scooped  again,  and  again 
paused.  "No,"  he  decided.  "There's  been  travel 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION         225 

both  ways,  but  the  last  travel  was  up  that  creek. 
Whoever  they  are,  they  're  there  now  —  certain. 
There  's  been  no  travel  for  weeks.  Now  what 's  been 
keeping  them  there  all  the  time  ?  That 's  what  I  want 
to  know." 

"  And  what  I  want  to  know  is  where  we  're  going 
to  camp  to-night,"  Shorty  said,  staring  disconsolately 
at  the  sky-line  in  the  southwest,  where  the  mid-after 
noon  twilight  was  darkening  into  night. 

"  Let 's  follow  the  track  up  the  creek,"  was  Smoke's 
suggestion.  "  There  's  plenty  of  dead  timber.  We 
can  camp  any  time." 

"  Sure  we  can  camp  any  time,  but  we  got  to  travel 
most  of  the  time  if  we  ain't  goin'  to  starve,  an'  we  got 
to  travel  in  the  right  direction." 

"  We  're  going  to  find  something  up  that  creek," 
Smoke  went  on. 

"But  look  at  the  grub!  look  at  them  dogs!" 
Shorty  cried.  "  Look  at  — r  oh,  hell,  all  right.  You 
will  have  your  will." 

"  It  won't  make  the  trip  a  day  longer,"  Smoke  urged. 
"  Possibly  no  more  than  a  mile  longer." 

"  Men  has  died  for  as  little  as  a  mile,"  Shorty  re 
torted,  shaking  his  head  with  lugubrious  resignation. 
"  Come  on  for  trouble.  Get  up,  you  poor  sore-foots, 
you  — •  get  up !  Haw !  You  Bright !  Haw !  " 

The  lead-dog  obeyed,  and  the  whole  team  strained 
weakly  into  the  soft  snow. 

"  Whoa !  "  Shorty  yelled.     "  It 's  pack  trail." 

Smoke  pulled  his  snow-shoes  from  under  the  sled- 
lashings,  bound  them  to  his  moccasined  feet,  and  went 


226  SMOKE  BELLEW 

to  the  fore  to  press  and  pack  the  light  surface  for  the 
dogs. 

It  was  heavy  work.  Dogs  and  men  had  been  for 
days  on  short  rations,  and  few  and  limited  were  the 
reserves  of  energy  they  could  call  upon.  Though 
they  followed  the  creek  bed,  so  pronounced  was  its  fall 
that  they  toiled  on  a  stiff  and  unrelenting  up-grade. 
The  high  rocky  walls  quickly  drew  near  together,  so 
that  their  way  led  up  the  bottom  of  a  narrow  gorge. 
The  long  lingering  twilight,  blocked  by  the  high  moun 
tains,  was  no  more  than  semi-darkness. 

"  It 's  a  trap,"  Shorty  said.  "  The  whole  look  of 
it  is  rotten.  It 's  a  hole  in  the  ground.  It 's  the 
stampin'-ground  of  trouble." 

Smoke  made  no  reply,  and  for  half  an  hour  they 
toiled  on  in  silence  —  a  silence  that  was  again  broken 
by  Shorty. 

"  She  's  a-workin',"  he  grumbled.  "  She  's  sure  a- 
workin',  an'  I  '11  tell  you  if  you  're  minded  to  hear  an' 
listen." 

"  Go  on,"  Smoke  answered. 

"  Well,  she  tells  me,  plain  an'  simple,  that  we  ain't 
never  goin'  to  get  out  of  this  hole  in  the  ground  in 
days  an'  days.  We  're  goin'  to  find  trouble  an'  be 
stuck  in  here  a  long  time  an'  then  some." 

"Does  she  say  anything  about  grub?"  Smoke 
queried  unsympathetically.  "  For  we  have  n't  grub 
for  days  and  days  and  days  and  then  some." 

"  Nope.  Nary  whisper  about  grub. .  I  guess  we  '11 
manage  to  make  out.  But  I  tell  you  one  thing,  Smoke, 
straight  an'  flat.  I  '11  eat  any  dog  in  the  team  ex- 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION         227 

ceptin'  Bright.  I  got  to  draw  the  line  on  Bright.  I 
just  could  n't  scoff  him." 

"  Cheer  up,"  Smoke  girded.  "  My  hunch  is  work 
ing  overtime.  She  tells  me  there  '11  be  no  dogs  eaten, 
and,  whether  it 's  moose  or  caribou  or  quail  on  toast, 
we  '11  all  fatten  up." 

Shorty  snorted  his  unutterable  disgust,  and  silence 
obtained  for  another  quarter  of  an  hour. 

"  There  's  the  beginning  of  your  trouble,"  Smoke 
said,  halting  on  his  snow-shoes  and  staring  at  an  ob 
ject  that  lay  on  one  side  of  the  old  trail. 

Shorty  left  the  gee-pole  and  joined  him,  and  to 
gether  they  gazed  down  on  the  body  of  a  man  beside 
the  trail. 

"  Well  fed,"  said  Smoke. 

"  Look  at  them  lips,"  said  Shorty. 

"  Stiff  as  a  poker,"  said  Smoke,  lifting  an  arm,  that, 
without  moving,  moved  the  whole  body. 

"  Pick  'm  up  an'  drop  'm  and  he  'd  break  to  pieces," 
was  Shorty's  comment. 

The  man  lay  on  his  side,  solidly  frozen.  From  the 
fact  that  no  snow  powdered  him,  it  was  patent  that  he 
had  lain  there  but  a  short  time. 

"  There  was  a  general  fall  of  snow  three  days 
back,"  said  Shorty. 

Smoke  nodded,  bending  over  the  corpse,  twisting 
it  half  up  to  face  them,  and  pointing  to  a  bullet  wound 
in  the  temple.  He  glanced  to  the  side  and  tilted  his 
head  at  a  revolver  that  lay  on  top  of  the  snow. 

A  hundred  yards  farther  on  they  came  upon  a  sec 
ond  body  that  lay  face  downward  in  the  trail.  "  Two 


228  SMOKE  BELLEW 

things  are  pretty  clear,"  Smoke  said.  "  They  're  fat. 
That  means  no  famine.  They  've  not  struck  it  rich, 
else  they  would  n't  have  committed  suicide." 

"  If  they  did,"  Shorty  objected. 

"  They  certainly  did.  There  are  no  tracks  besides 
their  own,  and  each  is  powder-burned."  Smoke 
dragged  the  corpse  to  one  side  and  with  the  toe  of  his 
moccasin  nosed  a  revolver  out  of  the  snow  into  which 
it  had  been  pressed  by  the  body.  "  That 's  what  did 
the  work.  I  told  you  we  'd  find  something." 

"  From  the  looks  of  it  we  ain't  started  yet.  Now 
what  'd  two  fat  geezers  want  to  kill  theirselves  for?" 

"  When  we  find  that  out  we  '11  have  found  the  rest 
of  your  trouble,"  Smoke  answered.  "  Come  on.  It 's 
blowing  dark." 

Quite  dark  it  was  when  Smoke's  snow-shoe  tripped 
him  over  a  body.  He  fell  across  a  sled,  on  which  lay 
another  body.  And  when  he  had  dug  the  snow  out 
of  his  neck  and  struck  a  match,  he  and  Shorty  glimpsed 
a  third  body,  wrapped  in  blankets,  lying  beside  a  par 
tially  dug  grave.  Also,  ere  the  match  flickered  out, 
they  caught  sight  of  half  a  dozen  additional  graves. 

"  B-r-r-r,"  Shorty  shivered.  "  Suicide  Camp.  All 
fed  up.  I  reckon  they  're  all  dead." 

"  No  — •  peep  at  that."  Smoke  was  looking  farther 
along  at  a  dim  glimmer  of  light.  "And  there 's 
another  light  —  and  a  third  one  there.  Come  on. 
Let's  hike." 

No  more  corpses  delayed  them,  and  in  several  min 
utes,  over  a  hard-packed  trail,  they  were  in  the  camp. 

"  It 's  a  city,"  Shorty  whispered.     "  There  must  be 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION         229 

twenty  cabins.     An'  not  a  dog.     Ain't  that  funny !  " 

"  And  that  explains  it,"  Smoke  whispered  back  ex 
citedly.  "  It 's  the  Laura  Sibley  outfit.  Don't  you 
remember?  Came  up  the  Yukon  last  fall  on  the  Port 
Townsend  Number  Six.  Went  right  by  Dawson  with 
out  stopping.  The  steamer  must  have  landed  them  at 
the  mouth  of  the  creek." 

"  Sure.     I  remember.     They  was  Mormons." 

"  No  —  vegetarians."  Smoke  grinned  in  the  dark 
ness.  "  They  won't  eat  meat  and  they  won't  work 
dogs." 

"  It 's  all  the  same.  I  knowed  they  was  something 
funny  about  'em.  Had  the  allwise  steer  to  the  yel 
low.  That  Laura  Sibley  was  goin'  to  take  'em  right 
to  the  spot  where  they  'd  all  be  millionaires." 

"  Yes ;  she  was  their  seeress  —  had  visions  and  that 
sort  of  stuff.  I  thought  they  went  up  the  Nordens- 
jold." 

"Huh!     Listen  to  that!" 

Shorty's  hand  in  the  darkness  went  out  warningly 
to  Smoke's  chest,  and  together  they  listened  to  a  groan, 
deep  and  long  drawn,  that  came  from  one  of  the  cab 
ins.  Ere  it  could  die  away  it  was  taken  up  by  another 
cabin,  and  another  —  a  vast  suspiration  of  human 
misery.  The  effect  was  monstrous  and  nightmarish. 

"  B-r-r-r,"  Shorty  shivered.  "  It 's  gettin'  me  goin'. 
Let 's  break  in  an'  find  what 's  eatin'  'em." 

Smoke  knocked  at  a  lighted  cabin,  and  was  fol 
lowed  in  by  Shorty  in  answer  to  the  "  Come  in  "  of 
the  voice  they  heard  groaning.  It  was  a  simple  log 
cabin,  the  walls  moss-chinked,  the  earth  floor  covered 


230  SMOKE  BELLEW 

with  sawdust  and  shavings.  The  light  was  a  kero 
sene-lamp,  and  they  could  make  out  four  bunks,  three 
of  which  were  occupied  by  men  who  ceased  from 
groaning  in  order  to  stare. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Smoke  demanded  af  one 
whose  blankets  could  not  hide  his  broad  shoulders  and 
massively  muscled  body,  whose  eyes  were  pain-racked 
and  whose  cheeks  were  hollow.  "  Smallpox?  What 
is  it?" 

In  reply,  the  man  pointed  at  his  mouth,  spreading 
black  and  swollen  lips  in  the  effort ;  and  Smoke  recoiled 
at  the  sight. 

"  Scurvy,"  he  muttered  to  Shorty ;  and  the  man 
confirmed  the  diagnosis  with  a  nod  of  the  head. 

"  Plenty  of  grub?  "  Shorty  asked. 

'  Yep,"  was  the  answer  from  a  man  in  another 
bunk.  "  Help  yourself.  There 's  slathers  of  it. 
The  cabin  next  on  the  other  side  is  empty.  Cache  is 
right  alongside.  Wade  into  it." 

In  every  cabin  they  visited  that  night  they  found  a 
similar  situation.  Scurvy  had  smitten  the  whole 
camp.  A  dozen  women  were  in  the  party,  though  the 
two  men  did  not  see  all  of  them.  Originally  there 
had  been  ninety-three  men  and  women.  But  ten  had 
died,  and  two  had  recently  disappeared.  Smoke  told 
of  finding  the  two,  and  expressed  surprise  that  none 
had  gone  that  short  distance  down  the  trail  to  find  out 
for  themselves.  What  particularly  struck  him  and 
Shorty  was  the  helplessness  of  these  people.  Their 
cabins  were  littered  and  dirty.  The  dishes  stood  un 
washed  on  the  rough  plank  tables.  There  was  no 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION         231 

mutual  aid.  A  cabin's  troubles  were  its  own  troubles, 
and  already  they  had  ceased  from  the  exertion  of 
burying  their  dead. 

"  It 's  almost  weird,"  Smoke  confided  to  Shorty. 
"  I  Ve  met  shirkers  and  loafers,  but  I  never  met  so 
many  all  at  one  time.  You  heard  what  they  said. 
They  've  never  done  a  tap.  I  '11  bet  they  have  n't 
washed  their  own  faces.  No  wonder  they  got  scurvy." 

"  But  vegetarians  had  n't  ought  to  get  scurvy," 
Shorty  contended.  "  It 's  the  salt-meat-eaters  that 's 
supposed  to  fall  for  it.  And  they  don't  eat  meat, 
salt  or  fresh,  raw  or  cooked,  or  any  other  way." 

Smoke  shook  his  head.  "  I  know.  And  it 's  vege 
table  diet  that  cures  scurvy.  No  drugs  wTill  do  it. 
Vegetables,  especially  potatoes,  are  the  only  dope. 
But  don't  forget  one  thing,  Shorty:  we  are  not  up 
against  a  theory  but  a  condition.  The  fact  is  these 
grass-eaters  have  all  got  scurvy." 

"  Must  be  contagious." 

"  No ;  that  the  doctors  do  know.  Scurvy  is  not  a 
germMisease.  It  can't  be  caught.  It 's  generated. 
As  near  as  I  can  get  it,  it 's  due  to  an  impoverished 
condition  of  the  blood.  Its  cause  is  not  something 
they  've  got,  but  something  they  have  n't  got.  A  man 
gets  scurvy  for  lack  of  certain  chemicals  in  his  blood, 
and  those  chemicals  don't  come  out  of  powders  and 
bottles,  but  do  come  out  of  vegetables." 

"  An'  these  people  eats  nothin'  but  grass,"  Shorty 
groaned.  "  And  they  've  got  it  up  to  their  ears. 
That  proves  you  're  all  wrong,  Smoke.  You  're 
spielin'  a  theory,  but  this  condition  sure  knocks  the 


232  SMOKE  BELLEW 

spots  outa  your  theory.  Scurvy 's  catchin',  an* 
that 's  why  they  've  all  got  it,  an'  rotten  bad  at  that. 
You  an'  me  '11  get  it  too,  if  we  hang  around  this  dig- 
gin'.  B-r-r-r !  —  I  can  feel  the  bugs  crawlin'  into  my 
system  right  now." 

Smoke  laughed  skeptically,  and  knocked  on  a  cabin 
door.  "  I  suppose  we  '11  find  the  same  old  thing,"  he 
said.  "  Come  on.  We  've  got  to  get  a  line  on  the 
situation." 

"  What  do  you  want?"  came  a  woman's  sharp 
voice. 

"  We  want  to  see  you,"  Smoke  answered. 

"Who  are  you?" 

"  Two  doctors  from  Dawson,"  Shorty  blurted  in, 
with  a  levity  that  brought  a  punch  in  the  short  ribs 
from  Smoke's  elbow. 

"  Don't  want  to  see  any  doctors,"  the  woman  said, 
in  tones  crisp  and  staccato  with  pain  and  irritation. 
"  Go  away.  Good  night.  We  don't  believe  in  doc 
tors." 

Smoke  pulled  the  latch,  shoved  the  door  open,  and 
entered,  turning  up  the  low-flamed  kerosene-lamp  so 
that  he  could  see.  In  four  bunks  four  women  ceased 

• 

from  groaning  and  sighing  to  stare  at  the  intruders. 
Two  were  young,  thin- faced  creatures,  the  third  was 
an  elderly  and  very  stout  woman,  and  the  fourth,  the 
one  whom  Smoke  identified  by  her  voice,  was  the  thin 
nest,  frailest  specimen  of  the  human  race  he  had  ever 
seen.  As  he  quickly  learned,  she  was  Laura  Sibley, 
the  seeress  and  professional  clairvoyant  who  had  or 
ganized  the  expedition  in  Los  Angeles  and  led  it  to  this 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION         233 

death-camp  on  the  Xordbeska.  The  conversation  that 
ensued  was  acrimonious.  Laura  Sibley  did  not  be 
lieve  in  doctors.  Also,  to  add  to  her  purgatory,  she 
had  wellnigh  ceased  to  believe  in  herself. 

%Why  didn't  you  send  out  for  help?"  Smoke 
asked,  ^  when  she  paused,  breathless  and  exhausted, 
from  her  iriitial  tirade.  "  There  's  a  camp  at  Stewart 
River,  and  eighteen  days*  travel  would  fetch  Dawson 
from  here." 

"Why  didn't  Amos  Wentworth  go?"  she  de 
manded,  with  a  wrath  that  bordered  on  hysteria. 

"  Don't  know  the  gentleman,"  Smoke  countered. 
"'What 's  he  been  doing?  " 

"  Nothing.  Except  that  he 's  the  only  one  that 
has  n't  caught  the  scurvy.  And  why  has  n't  he  caught 
the  scurvy?  I  '11  tell -you.  No,  I  won't."  The  thin 
lips  compressed  so  tightly  that  through  the  emaciated 
transparency  of  them  Smoke  was  almost  convinced  he 
could  see  the  teeth  and  the  roots  of  the  teeth.  "  And 
what  would  have  been  the  use?  Don't  I  know? 
I  'm  not  a  fool.  Our  caches  are  filled  with  every  kind 
of  fruit  juice  and  preserved  vegetables.  We  are  better 
situated  than  any  other  camp  in  Alaska  to  fight  scurvy. 
There  is  no  prepared  vegetable,  fruit,  and  nut  food  we 
have  n't,  and  in  plenty." 

"  She 's  got  you  there,  Smoke,"  Shorty  exulted. 
"  And  it 's  a  condition,  not  a  theory.  You  say  veg 
etables  cures.  Here  's  the  vegetables,  and  where  's 
the  cure?" 

''  There 's  no  explanation  I  can  see,"  Smoke  ac 
knowledged.  "  Yet  there  is  no  camp  in  Alaska  like  this. 


234  SMOKE  BELLEW 

I've  seen  scurvy — <a  sprinkling  of  cases  here  and 
there;  but  I  never  saw  a  whole  camp  with  it,  nor  did 
I  ever  see  such  terrible  cases.  Which  is  neither  here 
nor  there,  Shorty.  We  Ve  got  to  do  what  we  can  for 
these  people,  but  first  we  Ve  got  to  make  camp  and 
take  care  of  the  dogs.  We  '11  see  you  in  the  morning, 
er  — Mrs.  Sibley." 

"  Miss  Sibley,"  she  bridled.  "  And  now,  young 
man,  if  you  come  fooling  around  this  cabin  with  any 
doctor  stuff  I  '11  fill  you  full  of  birdshot." 

'''  This  divine  seeress  is  a  sweet  one,"  Smoke 
chuckled,  as  he  and  Shorty  felt  their  way  back  through 
the  darkness  to  the  empty  cabin  next  the  one  they 
had  first  entered. 

It  was  evident  that  two  men  had  lived  until  recently 
in  the  cabin,  and  the  partners  wondered  if  they 
were  n't  the  two  suicides  down  the  trail.  Together 
they  overhauled  the  cache  and  found  it  filled  with  an 
undreamed-of  variety  of  canned,  powdered,  dried, 
evaporated,  condensed,  and  desiccated  foods. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  reason  do  they  want  to  go 
and  get  scurvy  for  ?  "  Shorty  demanded,  brandish 
ing  to  the  light  packages  of  egg-powder  and  Italian 
mushrooms.  "  And  look  at  that !  And  that !  "  He 
tossed  out  cans  of  tomatoes  and  corn  and  bottles  of 
stuffed  olives.  "  And  the  divine  steeress  got  the 
scurvy,  too.  What  d'ye  make  of  it?" 

"  Seeress,"  Smoke  corrected. 

"  Steeress,"  Shorty  reiterated.  "  Did  n't  she  steer 
'em  here  to  this  hole  in  the  ground  ?  " 

Next  morning,  after  daylight,  Smoke  encountered 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION         235 

a  man  carrying  a  heavy  sled-load  of  firewood.  He 
was  a  little  man,  clean-looking  and  spry,  who  walked 
briskly  despite  the  load.  Smoke  experienced  an  im 
mediate  dislike. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  the  little  man  answered. 

"  I  know  that,"  Smoke  said.  "  That 's  why  I  asked 
you.  You  're  Amos  Wentworth.  Now  why  under 
the  sun  have  n't  you  the  scurvy  like  all  the  rest?  " 

"  Because  I  've  exercised,"  came  the  quick  reply. 
"  There  was  n't  any  need  for  any  of  them  to  get  it 
if  they  'd  only  got  out  and  done  something.  What 
did  they  do?  Growled  and  kicked  and  grouched  at 
the  cold,  the  long  nights,  the  hardships,  the  aches  and 
pains  and  everything  else.  They  loafed  in  their  beds 
until  they  swelled  up  and  could  n't  leave  them,  that  Js 
all.  Look  at  me.  I  've  worked.  Come  into  my 
cabin." 

Smoke  followed  him  in. 

"  Squint  around.  Clean  as  a  whistle,  eh  ?  You 
bet.  Everything  shipshape.  I  would  n't  keep  those 
chips  and  shavings  on  the  floor  except  for  the  warmth, 
but  they  're  clean  chips  and  shavings.  You  ought  to 
see  the  floor  in  some  of  the  shacks.  Pig-pens.  As 
for  me,  I  have  n't  eaten  a  meal  off  an  unwashed  dish. 
No,  sir.  It  meant  work,  and  I  've  worked,  and  I 
haven't  the  scurvy.  You  can  put  that  in  your  pipe 
and  smoke  it." 

"  You  Ve  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,"  Smoke  admitted. 
"  But  I  see  you  've  only  one  bunk.  Why  so  unsoci 
able?" 


236  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Because  I  like  to  be.  It 's  easier  to  clean  up  for 
one  than  two,  that 's  why.  The  lazy  blanket-loafers ! 
Do  you  think  that  I  could  have  stood  one  around? 
No  wonder  they  got  scurvy." 

It  was  very  convincing,  but  Smoke  could  not  rid 
himself  of  his  dislike  of  the  man. 

"  What 's  Laura  Sibley  got  it  in  for  you  for?  "  he 
asked  abruptly. 

Amos  Wentworth  shot  a  quick  look  at  him. 
"  She  's  a  crank,"  was  the  reply.  "  So  are  we  all 
cranks,  for  that  matter.  But  Heaven  save  me  from 
the  crank  that  won't  wash  the  dishes  that  he  eats 
off  of,  and  that 's  what  this  crowd  of  cranks  are  like." 

A  few  minutes  later,  Smoke  was  talking  with  Laura 
Sibley.  Supported  by  a  stick  in  either  hand,  she  had 
paused  in  hobbling  by  his  cabin. 

"What  have  you  got  it  in  for  Wentworth  for?" 
he  asked,  apropos  of  nothing  in  the  conversation  and 
with  a  suddenness  that  caught  her  off  her  guard. 

Her  green  eyes  flashed  bitterly,  her  emaciated  face 
for  the  second  was  convulsed  with  rage,  and  her  sore 
lips  writhed  on  the  verge  of  unconsidered  speech.  But 
only  a  splutter  of  gasping,  unintelligible  sounds  issued 
forth,  and  then,  by  a  terrible  effort,  she  controlled  her 
self. 

"  Because  he  's  healthy,"  she  panted.  "  Because 
he  has  n't  the  scurvy.  Because  he  is  supremely  self 
ish.  Because  he  won't  lift  a  hand  to  help  anybody 
else.  Because  he  'd  let  us  rot  and  die,  as  he  is  letting 
us  rot  and  die,  without  lifting  a  finger  to  fetch  us  a 
pail  of  water  or  a  load  of  firewood.  That 's  the  kind 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION         237 

of  a  brute  he  is.  But  let  him  beware !  That 's  all. 
Let  him  beware ! " 

Still  panting  and  gasping,  she  hobbled  on  her  way. 
and  five  minutes  afterward,  coming  out  of  the  cabin 
to  feed  the  dogs,  Smoke  saw  her  entering  Amos  Went- 
worth's  cabin. 

"  Something  rotten  here,  Shorty,  something  rotten," 
he  said,  shaking  his  head  ominously,  as  his  partner 
came  to  the  door  to  empty  a  pan  of  dish-water. 

"  Sure,"  was  the  cheerful  rejoinder.  "  An'  you  an' 
me  '11  be  catchirr  it  yet.  You  see." 

"  I  don't  mean  the  scurvy." 

"  Oh.  sure,  if  you  mean  the  divine  steeress.  She  'd 
rob  a  corpse.  She  's  the  hungriest-lookin'  female  I 
ever  seen." 

''  Exercise  has  kept  you  and  me  in  condition, 
Shorty.  It 's  kept  Wentworth  in  condition.  You 
see  what  lack  of  exercise  has  done  for  the  rest.  Now 
it 's  up  to  us  to  prescribe  exercise  for  these  hospital 
wrecks.  It  will  be  your  job  to  see  that  they  get  it. 
I  appoint  you  chief  nurse." 

"  What?     Me?  "  Shorty  shouted.     "  I  resign." 

"  No,  you  don't.  I  '11  be  able  assistant,  because  it 
is  n't  going  to  be  any  soft  snap.  We  've  got  to  make 
them  hustle.  First  thing,  they  '11  have  to  bury  their 
dead.  The  strongest  for  the  burial  squad;  then  the 
next  strongest  on  the  firewood  squad  (they've  been 
lying  in  their  blankets  to  save  wood)  ;  and  so  on  down 
the  line.  And  spruce-tea.  Must  n't  forget  that.  All 
tne  sour-doughs  swear  by  it.  These  people  have 
never  even  heard  of  it." 


238  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  We  sure  got  ourn  cut  out  for  us,"  -Shorty  grinned. 
"  First  thing  we  know  we  '11  be  full  of  lead." 

"  And  that 's  our  first  job,"  Smoke  said.     "  Come 


on." 


In  the  next  hour,  each  of  the  twenty-odd  cabins  was 
raided.  All  ammunition  and  every  rifle,  shotgun,  ancf 
revolver  was  confiscated. 

"  Come  on,  you  invalids,"  was  Shorty's  method. 
"  Shootin'-irons  —  fork  'em  over.  We  need  'em." 

"  Who  says  so  ?  "  was  the  query  at  the  first  cabin. 

:t  Two  doctors  from  D&wson,"  was  Shorty's  an 
swer.  "  An'  what  they  say  goes.  Come  on.  Shell 
out  ammunition,  too." 

"  What  do  you  want  them  for?  " 

"  To  stand  off  a  war-party  of  canned  beef  comin' 
down  the  canyon.  And  I  'm  givin'  you  fair  warnin'  of 
a  spruce-tea  invasion.  Come  across." 

And  this  was  only  the  beginning  of  the  day.  Men 
were  persuaded,  coaxed,  bullied  or  dragged  by  main 
strength  from  their  bunks  and  forced  to  dress. 
Smoke  selected  the  mildest  cases  for  the  burial  squad. 
Another  squad  was  told  off  to  supply  the  wood  by 
which  the  graves  were  burned  down  into  the  frozen 
muck  and  gravel.  Still  another  squad  had  to  chop 
firewood  and  impartially  supply  every  cabin.  Those 
who  were  too  weak  for  out  door  work  were  put  to 
cleaning  and  scrubbing  the  cabins  and  washing  clothes. 
One  squad  brought  in  many  loads  of  spruce-boughs, 
and  every  stove  was  used  for  the  brewing  of  spruce- 
tea. 

But  no  matter  what  face  Smoke  and  Shorty  put  on 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION         239 

it,  the  situation  was  grim  and  serious.  At  least  thirty 
fearful  and  impossible  cases  could  not  be  taken  from 
the  beds,  as  the  two  men,  with  nausea  and  horror, 
learned;  while  one,  a  woman,  died  in  Laura  Sibley's 
cabin.  Yet  strong  measures  were  necessary. 

"  I  don't  like  to  wallop  a  sick  man,"  Shorty  ex 
plained,  his  fist  doubled  menacingly.  "  But  I  'd  wal 
lop  his  block  off  if  it  'd  make  him  well.  And  wrhat  all 
you  lazy  bums  needs  is  a  wallopin'.  Come  on!  Out 
of  that  an'  into  them  duds  of  yourn,  double  quick,  or 
I  '11  sure  muss  up  the  front  of  your  face." 

All  the  gangs  groaned,  and  sighed,  and  wept,  the 
tears  streaming  and  freezing  down  their  cheeks  as 
they  toiled;  and  it  was  patent  that  their  agony  was 
real.  The  situation  was  desperate,  and  Smoke's  pre 
scription  was  heroic. 

When  the  w'ork-gangs  came  in  at  noon,  they  found 
decently  cooked  dinners  awaiting  them,  prepared  by  the 
weaker  members  of  their  cabins  under  the  tutelage  and 
drive  of  Smoke  and  Shorty. 

"  That  '11  do,"  Smoke  said  at  three  in  the  afternoon. 
"  Knock  off.  Go  to  your  bunks.  You  may  be  feel 
ing  rotten  now,  but  you  '11  be  the  better  for  it  to 
morrow.  Of  course  it  hurts  to  get  well,  but  I  'm  go 
ing  to  get  you  well." 

"  Too  late,"  Amos  Wentworth  sneered  pallidly  at 
Smoke's  efforts.  "  They  ought  to  have  started  in  that 
way  last  fall."  "  Come  along  with  me,"  Smoke  an 
swered.  "  Pick  up  those  two  pails.  You  're  not  ail 
ing." 

From  cabin  to  cabin  the  three  men  went,  'dosing 


240  SMOKE  BELLEW 

every  man  and  woman  with  a  full  pint  of  spruce-tea. 
Nor  was  it  easy. 

'  You  might  as  well  learn  at  the  start  that  we  mean 
business/'  Smoke  stated  to  the  first  obdurate,  who  lay 
on  his  back,  groaning  through  set  teeth.  "  Stand  by, 
Shorty."  Smoke  caught  the  patient  by  the  nose  and 
tapped  the  solar-plexus  section  so  as  to  make  the 
mouth  gasp  open.  "  Now,  Shorty !  Down  she  goes !  " 

And  down  it  went,  accompanied  with  unavoidable 
splutterings  and  stranglings. 

"  Next  time  you  '11  take  it  easier,"  Smoke  assured 
the  victim,  reaching  for  the  nose  of  the  man  in  the  ad 
joining  bunk. 

"  I  'd  sooner  take  castor  oil,"  was  Shorty's  private 
confidence,  ere  he  downed  his  own  portion.  "  Great 
jumpin'  Methuselem !  "  was  his  entirely  public  procla 
mation  the  moment  after  he  had  swallowed  the  bitter 
dose.  "  It 's  a  pint  long,  but  hogshead  strong." 

'*  We  're  covering  this  spruce-tea  route  four  times 
a  day,  and  there  are  eighty  of  you  to  be  dosed  each 
time,"  Smoke  informed  Laura  Sibley.  "  So  we  Ve 
no  time  to  fool.  Will  you  take  it  or  must  I  hold  your 
nose?  "  His  thumb  and  forefinger  hovered  eloquently 
above  her.  "  It 's  vegetable,  so  you  need  n't  have  any 
qualms." 

"  Qualms !  "  Shorty  snorted.  "  No,  sure,  certainly 
not.  It 's  the  deliciousest  dope !  " 

Laura  Sibley  hesitated.  She  gulped  her  apprehen 
sion. 

;f  Well  ?  "  Smoke  demanded  peremptorily. 

"  I  '11  —  I  '11  take  it,"  she  quavered.     "  Hurry  up !  " 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION         241 

That  night,  exhausted  as  by  no  hard  day  of  trail, 
Smoke  and  Shorty  crawled  into  their  blankets. 

"  I  'm  fairly  sick  with  it,"  Smoke  confessed. 
"  The  way  they  suffer  is  awful.  But  exercise  is  the 
only  remedy  I  can  think  of,  and  it  must  be  given  a 
thorough  trial.  I  wish  we  had  a  sack  of  raw  pota 
toes." 

"  Sparkins  he  can't  wash  no  more  dishes,"  Shorty 
said.  "  It  hurts  him  so  he  sweats  his  pain.  I  seen 
him  sweat  it.  I  had  to  put  him  back  in  the  bunk,  he 
was  that  helpless." 

"If  only  we  had  raw  potatoes,"  Smoke  went  on. 
"  The  vital,  essential  something  is  missing  from  that 
prepared  stuff.  The  life  has  been  evaporated  out  of 
it." 

"  An'  if  that  young  fellow  Jones  in  the  Brownlow 
cabin  don't  croak  before  morning  I  miss  my  guess." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  be  cheerful,"  Smoke  chided. 

"  We  got  to  bury  him,  ain't  we  ?  "  came  the  indig 
nant  snort.  "  I  tell  you  that  boy  's  something  aw 
ful  — " 

"  Shut  up,"  Smoke  said. 

And  after  several  more  indignant  snorts,  the  heavy 
breathing  of  sleep  arose  from  Shorty's  bunk. 

In  the  morning,  not  only  was  Jones  dead,  but  one 
of  the  stronger  men  who  had  worked  on  the  firewood 
squad  was  found  to  have  hanged  himself.  A  night 
mare  procession  of  days  set  in.  For  a  week,  steeling 
himself  to  the  task,  Smoke  enforced  the  exercise  and 
the  spruce-tea.  And  one  by  one,  and  in  twos  and 
threes,  he  was  compelled  to  knock  off  the  workers. 


242  SMOKE  BELLEW 

As  he  was  learning,  exercise  was  the  last  thing  in  the 
world  for  scurvy  patients.  The  diminishing  burial 
squad  was  kept  steadily  at  work,  and  a  surplus  half- 
dozen  graves  were  always  burned  down  and  waiting. 
'  You  could  n't  have  selected  a  worse  place  for  a 
camp,"  Smoke  told  Laura  Sibley.  "Look  at  it  —  at 
the  bottom  of  a  narrow  gorge,  running  east  and  west. 
The  noon  sun  does  n't  rise  above  the  top  of  the  wall. 
You  can't  have  had  sunlight  for  several  months." 

"  But  how  was  I  to  know  ?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  don't  see  why  not, 
if  you  could  lead  a  hundred  fools  to  a  gold-mine." 

She  glared  malevolently  at  him  and  hobbled  on. 
Several  minutes  afterward,  coming  back  from  a  trip 
to  where  a  squad  of  groaning  patients  was  gathering 
spruce-boughs,  Smoke  saw  the  seeress  entering  Amos 
Wentworth's  cabin  and  followed  after  her.  At  the 
door  he  could  hear  her  voice,  whimpering  and  plead 
ing. 

'''  Just  for  me,"  she  was  begging,  as  Smoke  entered. 
"  I  won't  tell  a  soul." 

Both  glanced  guiltily  at  the  intruder,  and  Smoke 
was  certain  that  he  was  on  the  edge  of  something,  he 
knew  not  what,  and  he  cursed  himself  for  not  having 
eavesdropped. 

"  Out  with  it,"  he  commanded  harshly.  "  What  is 
it?" 

"  What  is  what  ? "  Amos  Wentworth  asked  sul 
lenly.  And  Smoke  could  not  name  what  was  what. 

Grimmer  and  grimmer  grew  the  situation.  In  that 
dark  hole  of  a  canyon,  where  sunlight  never  pene- 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION        243 

trated,  the  horrible  death  list  mounted  up.  Each  day, 
in  apprehension,  Smoke  and  Shorty  examined  each 
other's  mouths  for  the  whitening  of  the  gums  and 
mucous  membranes  —  the  invariable  first  symptom  of 
the  disease. 

"  I  Ve  quit,"  Shorty  announced  one  evening. 
"  I  Ve  been  thinkin'  it  over,  an'  I  quit.  I  can  make 
a  go  at  slave-drivin',  but  cripple-drivin'  's  too  much  for 
my  stomach.  They  go  from  bad  to  worse.  They 
ain't  twenty  men  I  can  drive  to  work.  I  told  Jackson 
this  afternoon  he  could  take  to  his  bunk.  He  was 
gettin'  ready  to  suicide.  I  could  see  it  stickin'  out  all 
over  him.  Exercise  ain't  no  good." 

"I  've  made  up  my  mind  to  the  same  thing,"  Smoke 
answered.  "  We  '11  knock  off  all  but  about  a  dozen. 
They  '11  have  to  lend  a  hand.  We  can  relay  them. 
And  we  11  keep  up  the  spruce-tea." 

"  It  ain't  no  good." 

"  I  'm  about  ready  to  agree  with  that,  too,  but  at 
any  rate  it  does  n't  hurt  them." 

"  Another  suicide,"  was  Shorty's  news  the  follow 
ing  morning.  "  That  Phillips  is  the  one.  I  seen  it 
comin'  for  days." 

"  We  're  up  against  the  real  thing,"  Smoke  groaned. 
"What  would  you  suggest,  Shorty?" 

"  Who  ?  Me  ?  I  ain't  got  no  suggestions.  The 
the  thing  's  got  to  run  its  course." 

"  But  that  means  they  '11  all  die,"  Smoke  protested. 

"Except  Wentworth,"  Shorty  snarled;  for  he  had 
quickly  come  to  share  his  partner's  dislike  for  that  in 
dividual. 


244  SMOKE  BELLEW 

The  everlasting  miracle  of  Wentworth's  immunity 
perplexed  Smoke.  Why  should  he  alone  not  have 
developed  scurvy?  Why  did  Laura  Sibley  hate  him, 
and  at  the  same  time  whine  and  snivel  and  beg  from 
him?  What  was  it  she  begged  from  him  and  that 
he  would  not  give? 

On  several  occasions  Smoke  made  it  a  point  to  drop 
into  Wentworth's  cabin  at  meal-time.  But  one  thing 
did  he  note  that  was  suspicious,  and  that  was  Went 
worth's  suspicion  of  him.  Next  he  tried  sounding  out 
Laura  Sibley. 

"  Raw  potatoes  would  cure  everybody  here,"  he  re 
marked  to  the  seeress.  "  I  know  it.  I  've  seen  it 
work  before." 

The  flare  of  conviction  in  her  eyes,  followed  by  bit 
terness  and  hatred,  told  him  the  scent  was  warm. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  bring  in  a  supply  of  fresh  pota 
toes  on  the  steamer  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  We  did.  But  coming  up  the  river  we  sold  them 
all  out  at  a  bargain  at  Fort  Yukon.  We  had  plenty 
of  the  evaporated  kinds,  and  we  knew  they  'd  keep  bet 
ter.  They  would  n't  even  freeze." 

Smoke  groaned.  "  And  you  sold  them  all  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes.     How  were  we  to  know  ?  " 

"  Now  might  n't  there  have  been  a  couple  of  odd 
sacks  left  ?  —  accidentally,  you  know,  mislaid  on  the 
steamer?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  as  he  thought,  a  trifle  belatedly, 
then  added,  "  We  never  found  any." 

"  But  might  n't  there?  "  he  persisted. 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION         245 

"How  do  I  know?"  she  rasped  angrily.  "I 
did  n't  have  charge  of  the  commissary." 

"  And  Amos  Wentworth  did,"  he  jumped  to  the 
conclusion.  :'  Very  good.  Now  what  is  your  private 
opinion  —  just  between  us  two.  Do  you  think  Went 
worth  has  any  raw  potatoes  stored  away  somewhere?  " 

"  No ;  certainly  not.     Why  should  he?  " 

"Why  shouldn't  he?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

Struggle  as  he  would  with  her,  Smoke  could  not 
bring  her  to  admit  the  possibility. 

"  Wentworth 's  a  swine,"  was  Shorty's  verdict, 
when  Smoke  told  his  suspicions. 

"  And  so  is  Laura  Sibley,"  Smoke  added.  "  She 
believes  he  has  the  potatoes,  and  is  keeping  it  quiet, 
and  trying  to  get  him  to  share  with  her." 

"An'  he  won't  come  across,  eh?"  Shorty  cursed 
frail  human  nature  with  one  of  his  best  flights,  and 
caught  his  breath.  "  They  both  got  their  feet  in  the 
trough.  May  God  rot  them  dead  with  scurvy  for  their 
reward,  that 's  all  I  got  to  say,  except  I  'm  goin'  right 
up  now  an'  knock  \Ventworth's  block  off." 

But  Smoke  stood  out  for  diplomacy.  That  night, 
when  the  camp  groaned  and  slept,  or  groaned  and  did 
not  sleep,  he  went  to  Wentworth's  unlighted  cabin. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Wentworth,"  he  said.  "  I  've  got  a 
thousand  dollars  in  dust  right  here  in  this  sack.  I  'm 
a  rich  man  in  this  country,  and  I  can  afford  it.  I 
think  I  'm  getting  touched.  Put  a  raw  potato  in  my 
hand  and  the  dust  is  yours.  Here,  heft  it." 

And  Smoke  thrilled  when  Amos  Wentworth  put 


248  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  I  'm  for  roastin'  him  over  a  slow  fire  an'  make  'm 
cough  up,"  Shorty  proposed  earnestly. 

Smoke  shook  his  head  reluctantly. 

"  It 's  murder,"  Shorty  held  on.  "  He  's  murderin' 
all  them  poor  geezers  just  as  much  as  if  he  knocked 
their  brains  out  with  an  ax,  only  worse." 

Another  day  passed,  during  which  they  kept  a  steady 
watch  on  Wentworth's  movements.  Several  times, 
when  he  started  out,  water-bucket  in  hand,  for  the 
creek,  they  casually  approached  the  cabin,  and  each 
time  he  hurried  back  without  the  water. 

"  They  're  cached  right  there  in  his  cabin,"  Shorty 
said.  "  As  sure  as  God  made  little  apples,  they  are. 
But  where?  We  sure  overhauled  it  plenty."  He 
stood  up  and  pulled  on  his  mittens.  "  I  'm  goin'  to 
find  'em  if  I  have  to  pull  the  blame  shack  down  a  log 
at  a  time." 

He  glanced  at  Smoke,  who,  with  an  intent,  absent 
face,  had  not  heard  him. 

"  What 's  eatin'  you  ?  "  Shorty  demanded  wrath- 
fully.  "  Don't  tell  me  you  've  gone  an'  got  the 
scurvy!  " 

"  Just  trying  to  remember  something,  Shorty." 

"What?" 

"  I  don't  know.  That 's  the  trouble.  But  it  has 
a  bearing,  if  only  I  could  remember  it." 

"  Now  you  look  here,  Smoke ;  don't  you  go  an'  get 
bug-house,"  Shorty  pleaded.  "Think  of  me!  Let 
your  think-slats  rip.  Come  on  an'  help  me  pull  that 
shack  down.  I  'd  set  her  afire,  if  it  wa'  n't  for 
roastin'  them  spuds." 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION         249 

"  That 's  it !  "  Smoke  exploded,  as  he  sprang  to  his 
feet.  "  Just  what  I  was  trying  to  remember. 
Where  's  that  kerosene-can  ?  I  'm  with  you,  Shorty. 
The  potatoes  are  ours." 

"What's  the  game?" 

"  Watch  me,  that 's  all,"  Smoke  baffled.  "  I  always 
told  you,  Shorty,  that  a  deficient  acquaintance  with 
literature  was  a  handicap,  even  in  the  Klondike.  Now 
what  we  're  going  to  do  came  out  of  a  book.  I  read 
it  when  I  was  a  kid,  and  it  will  work.  Come  on." 

Several  minutes  later,  under  a  pale-gleaming,  green 
ish  aurora  borealis,  the  two  men  crept  up  to  Amos 
Wentworth's  cabin.  Carefully  and  noiselessly  they 
poured  kerosene  over  the  logs,  extra-drenching  the 
door-frame  and  window-sash.  Then  the  match  was 
applied,  and  they  watched  the  flaming  oil  gather  head 
way.  They  drew  back  beyond  the  growing  light  and 
waited. 

They  saw  Wentworth  rush  out,  stare  wildly  at  the 
conflagration,  and  plunge  back  into  the  cabin. 
Scarcely  a  minute  elapsed  when  he  emerged,  this  time 
slowly,  half  doubled  over,  his  shoulders  burdened  by 
a  sack  heavy  and  unmistakable.  Smoke  and  Shorty 
sprang  at  him  like  a  pair  of  famished  wolves.  They 
hit  him  right  and  left,  at  the  same  instant.  He 
crumpled  down  under  the  weight  of  the  sack,  which 
Smoke  pressed  over  with  his  hands  to  make  sure. 
Then  he  felt  his  knees  clasped  by  Wentwrorth's  arms 
as  the  man  turned  a  ghastly  face  upward. 

"  Give  me  a  dozen,  only  a  dozen  —  half  a  dozen  — 
and  you  can  have  the  rest,"  he  squalled.  He  bared 


248  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  I  'm  for  roastin'  him  over  a  slow  fire  an'  make  'm 
cough  up,"  Shorty  proposed  earnestly. 

Smoke  shook  his  head  reluctantly. 

"  It 's  murder,"  Shorty  held  on.  "  He  's  murderin' 
all  them  poor  geezers  just  as  much  as  if  he  knocked 
their  brains  out  with  an  ax,  only  worse." 

Another  day  passed,  during  which  they  kept  a  steady 
watch  on  Wentworth's  movements.  Several  times, 
when  he  started  out,  water-bucket  in  hand,  for  the 
creek,  they  casually  approached  the  cabin,  and  each 
time  he  hurried  back  without  the  water. 

"  They  're  cached  right  there  in  his  cabin,"  Shorty 
said.  "  As  sure  as  God  made  little  apples,  they  are. 
But  where?  We  sure  overhauled  it  plenty."  He 
stood  up  and  pulled  on  his  mittens.  "  I  'm  goin'  to 
find  'em  if  I  have  to  pull  the  blame  shack  down  a  log 
at  a  time." 

He  glanced  at  Smoke,  who,  with  an  intent,  absent 
face,  had  not  heard  him. 

"  What 's  eatin'  you  ?  "  Shorty  demanded  wrath- 
fully.  "  Don't  tell  me  you  've  gone  an'  got  the 
scurvy!  " 

"  Just  trying  to  remember  something,  Shorty." 

"What?" 

"  I  don't  know.  That 's  the  trouble.  But  it  has 
a  bearing,  if  only  I  could  remember  it." 

"  Now  you  look  here,  Smoke ;  don't  you  go  an'  get 
bug-house,"  Shorty  pleaded.  "Think  of  me!  Let 
your  think-slats  rip.  Come  on  an'  help  me  pull  that 
shack  down.  I  'd  set  her  afire,  if  it  wa'  n't  for 
roastin'  them  spuds." 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION         249 

"  That 's  it!  "  Smoke  exploded,  as  he  sprang  to  his 
feet.  "  Just  what  I  was  trying  to  remember. 
Where  's  that  kerosene-can  ?  I  'm  with  you,  Shorty. 
The  potatoes  are  ours." 

"What's  the  game?" 

"  Watch  me,  that 's  all,"  Smoke  baffled.  "  I  always 
told  you,  Shorty,  that  a  deficient  acquaintance  with 
literature  was  a  handicap,  even  in  the  Klondike.  Now 
what  we  're  going  to  do  came  out  of  a  book.  I  read 
it  when  I  was  a  kid,  and  it  will  work.  Come  on." 

Several  minutes  later,  under  a  pale-gleaming,  green 
ish  aurora  borealis,  the  two  men  crept  up  to  Amos 
Wentworth's  cabin.  Carefully  and  noiselessly  they 
poured  kerosene  over  the  logs,  extra-drenching  the 
door-frame  and  window-sash.  Then  the  match  was 
applied,  and  they  watched  the  flaming  oil  gather  head 
way.  They  drew  back  beyond  the  growing  light  and 
waited. 

They  saw  Wentworth  rush  out,  stare  wildly  at  the 
conflagration,  and  plunge  back  into  the  cabin. 
Scarcely  a  minute  elapsed  when  he  emerged,  this  time 
slowly,  half  doubled  over,  his  shoulders  burdened  by 
a  sack  heavy  and  unmistakable.  Smoke  and  Shorty 
sprang  at  him  like  a  pair  of  famished  wolves.  They 
hit  him  right  and  left,  at  the  same  instant.  He 
crumpled  down  under  the  weight  of  the  sack,  which 
Smoke  pressed  over  with  his  hands  to  make  sure. 
Then  he  felt  his  knees  clasped  by  Wentworth's  arms 
as  the  man  turned  a  ghastly  face  upward. 

"  Give  me  a  dozen,  only  a  dozen  —  half  a  dozen  — 
and  you  can  have  the  rest,"  he  squalled;  He  bared 


250  SMOKE  BELLEW 

his  teeth  and,  with  mad  rage,  half  inclined  his  head  to 
bite  Smoke's  leg,  then  he  changed  his  mind  and  fell 
to  pleading.  "  Just  half  a  dozen,"  he  wailed.  "  Just 
half  a  dozen.  I  was  going  to  turn  them  over  to  you 
—  to-morrow.  Yes,  to-morrow.  That  was  my  idea. 
They're  life!  They're  life!  Just  half  a  dozen!" 

"Where  's  the  other  sack?  "  Smoke  bluffed. 

"  I  ate  it  up,"  was  the  reply,  unimpeachably  honest. 
'  That  sack  's  all  that 's  left.  Give  me  a  few.  You 
can  have  the  rest." 

"Ate  'em  up!"  Shorty  screamed.  "A  whole 
sack !  An'  them  geezers  dyin'  for  want  of  'em !  This 
for  you !  An'  this !  An'  this !  An'  this !  You  swine ! 
You  hog!" 

The  first  kick  tore  Wentworth  away  from  his  em 
brace  of  Smoke's  knees.  The  second  kick  turned  him 
over  in  the  snow.  But  Shorty  went  on  kicking. 

"  Watch  out  for  your  toes,"  was  Smoke's  only  in 
terference. 

"  Sure ;  I  'm  usin'  the  heel,"  Shorty  answered. 
"  Watch  me.  I  '11  cave  his  ribs  in.  I'  11  kick  his  jaw 
off.  Take  that !  An'  that !  Wisht  I  could  give  you 
the  boot  instead  of  the  moccasin.  You  swine !  " 

There  was  no  sleep  in  camp  that  night.  Hour  after 
hour  Smoke  and  Shorty  went  the  rounds,  doling  the 
life-renewing  potato-juice,  a  quarter  of  a  spoonful  at 
a  dose,  into  the  poor  ruined  mouths  of  the  population. 
And  through  the  following  day,  while  one  slept  the 
other  kept  up  the  work. 

There  were  no  more  deaths.  The  most  awful  cases 
began  to  mend  with  an  immediacy  that  was  startling. 


They  hit  him  right  and  left  at  the  same  instant. 


THE  MISTAKE  OF  CREATION         253 

By  the  third  day,  men  who  had  not  been  off  their 
backs  for  weeks  crawled  out  of  their  bunks  and  tot 
tered  around  on  crutches.  And  on  that  day,  the  sun, 
two  months  then  on  its  journey  into  northern  declin 
ation,  peeped  cheerfully  over  the  crest  of  the  canyon 
for  the  first  time. 

"  Nary  a  potato,"  Shorty  told  the  whining,  beg 
ging  Wentworth.  "  You  ain't  even  touched  with 
scurvy.  You  got  outside  a  whole  sack,  an'  you  're 
loaded  against  scurvy  for  twenty  years.  Knowin' 
you,  I  've  come  to  understand  God.  I  always  won 
dered  why  he  let  Satan  live.  Now  I  know.  He  let 
him  live  just  as  I  let  you  live.  But  it 's  a  cry  in'  shame, 
just  the  same." 

"  A  word  of  advice,"  Smoke  told  Wentworth. 
"  These  men  are  getting  well  fast ;  Shorty  and  I  are 
leaving  in  a  week,  and  there  will  be  nobody  to  protect 
you  when  these  men  go  after  you.  There  's  the  trail. 
Dawson  's  eighteen  days'  travel." 

"  Pull  your  freight,  Amos,"  Shorty  supplemented, 
"  or  what  I  done  to  you  won't  be  a  circumstance  to 
what  them  convalescents  '11  do  to  you." 

"  Gentlemen,  I  beg  of  you,  listen  to  me,"  Wentworth 
whined.  "  I  'm  a  stranger  in  this  country.  I  don't 
know  its  ways.  I  don't  know  the  trail.  Let  me  travel 
with  you.  I  '11  give  you  a  thousand  dollars  if  you  '11 
let  me  travel  with  you." 

"  Sure,"  Smoke  grinned  maliciously.  "  If  Shorty 
agrees." 

"Who?  Me?-"  Shorty  stiffened  for  a  supreme 
effort.  "  I  ain't  nobody.  Woodticks  ain't  got 


254  SMOKE  BELLEW 

nothin'  on  me  when  it  comes  to  humility.  I  'm  a 
worm,  a  maggot,  brother  to  the  pollywog  an'  child  of 
the  blow-fly.  I  ain't  afraid  or  ashamed  of  nothin' 
that  creeps  or  crawls  or  stinks.  But  travel  with  that 
mistake  of  creation!  Go  'way,  man.  I  ain't  proud, 
but  you  turn  my  stomach." 

And  Amos  Wentworth  went  away,  alone,  dragging 
a  sled  loaded  with  provisions  sufficient  to  last  him  to 
Dawson.  A  mile  down  the  trail  Shorty  overhauled 
him. 

"  Come  here  to  me,"  was  Shorty's  greeting. 
"  Come  across.  Fork  over.  Cough  up." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  Wentworth  quavered,  shiv 
ering  from  recollection  of  the  two  beatings,  hand  and 
foot,  he  had  already  received  from  Shorty. 

:<  That  thousand  dollars,  d'  ye  understand  that  ? 
That  thousand  dollars  gold  Smoke  bought  that  measly 
potato  with.  Come  through." 

And  Amos  Wentworth  passed  the  gold-sack  over. 

"  Hope  a  skunk  bites  you  an'  you  get  howlin'  hy- 
drophoby,"  were  the  terms  of  Shorty's  farewell. 


A   FLUTTER   IN    EGGS 

IT  was  in  the  A.  C.  Company's  big  store  at 
Dawson,  on  a  morning  of  crisp  frost,  that  Lucille 
Arral  beckoned  Smoke  Bellew  over  to  the  dry- 
goods  counter.  The  clerk  had  gone  on  an  expedition 
into  the  storerooms,  and,  despite  the  huge,  red-hot 
stoves,  Lucille  had  drawn  on  her  mittens  again. 

Smoke  obeyed  her  call  with  alacrity.  The  man 
did  not  exist  in  Dawson  who  would  not  have  been 
flattered  by  the  notice  of  Lucille  Arral,  the  singing 
soubrette  of  the  tiny  stock  company  that  performed 
nightly  at  the  Palace  Opera  House. 

"  Things  are  dead,"  she  complained,  with  pretty  pet 
ulance,  as  soon  as  they  had  shaken  hands.  "  There 
has  n't  been  a  stampede  for  a  week.  That  masked 
ball  Skiff  Mitchell  was  going  to  give  us  has  been 
postponed.  There  's  no  dust  in  circulation.  There  's 
always  standing-room  now  at  the  Opera  House.  And 
there  has  n't  been  a  mail  from  the  Outside  for  two 
whole  weeks.  In  short,  this  burg  has  crawled  into 
its  cave  and  gone  to  sleep.  We  've  got  to  do  some 
thing.  It  needs  livening  —  and  you  and  I  can  do  it. 
We  can  give  it  excitement  if  anybody  can.  I  Ve 
broken  with  Wild  Water,  you  know/' 

Smoke  caught  two  almost  simultaneous  visions. 

255 


256  SMOKE  BELLEW 

One  was  of  Joy  Gastell;  the  other  was  of  himself,  in 
the  midst  of  a  bleak  snow-stretch,  under  a  cold  arctic 
moon,  being  pot-shotted  with  accurateness  and  de 
spatch  by  the  aforesaid  Wild  Water.  Smoke's  re 
luctance  at  raising  excitement  with  the  aid  of  Lucille 
Arral  was  too  patent  for  her  to  miss. 

"  I  'm  not  thinking  what  you  are  thinking  at  all, 
thank  you,"  she  chided,  with  a  laugh  and  a  pout. 
14  When  I  throw  myself  at  your  head  you  '11  have  to 
have  more  eyes  and  better  ones  than  you  have  now  to 
see  me." 

"  Men  have  died  of  heart  disease  at  the  sudden  an 
nouncement  of  good  fortune,"  he  murmured  in  the 
unveracious  gladness  of  relief. 

"  Liar,"  she  retorted  graciously.  "  You  were  more 
scared  to  death  than  anything  else.  Now  take  it 
from  me,  Mr.  Smoke  Bellew,  I  'm  not  going  to  make 
love  to  you,  and  if  you  dare  to  make  love  to  me,  Wild 
Water  will  take  care  of  your  case.  You  know  him. 
Besides,  I  —  I  have  n't  really  broken  with  him." 

"  Go  on  with  your  puzzles,"  he  jeered.  "  Maybe  I 
can  start  guessing  what  you  're  driving  at  after  a 
while." 

"  There  's  no  guessing,  Smoke.  I  '11  give  it  to  you 
straight.  Wild  Water  thinks  I  've  broken  with  him, 
don't  you  see." 

'''  Well,  have  you,  or  have  n't  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  n't  —  there !  But  it 's  between  you  and 
me  in  confidence.  He  thinks  I  have.  I  made  a  noise 
like  breaking  with  him,  and  he  deserved  it,  too." 

"  Where  do  I  come  in,  stalking-horse  or  fall-guy?  " 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  257 

"  Neither.  You  make  a  pot  of  money,  we  put 
across  the  laugh  on  Wild  Water  and  cheer  Dawson 
up,  and,  best  of  all,  and  the  reason  for  it  all,  he  gets 
disciplined.  He  needs  it.  He  's  —  well,  the  best  way 
to  put  it  is,  he  's  too  turbulent.  Just  because  he  's  a 
big  husky,  because  he  owns  more  rich  claims  than  he 
can  keep  count  of — " 

"  And  because  he  's  engaged  to  the  prettiest  little 
woman  in  Alaska,"  Smoke  interpolated. 

"  Yes,  and  because  of  that,  too,  thank  you,  is  no 
reason  for  him  to  get  riotous.  He  broke  out  last  night 
again.  Sowed  the  floor  of  the  M.  &  M.  with  gold- 
dust.  All  of  a  thousand  dollars.  Just  opened  his 
poke  and  scattered  it  under  the  feet  of  the  dancers. 
You  've  heard  of  it,  of  course." 

"  Yes ;  this  morning.  I  'd  like  to  be  the  sweeper  in 
that  establishment.  But  still  I  don't  get  you.  Where 
do  I  come  in?  " 

"  Listen.  He  was  too  turbulent.  I  broke  our  en 
gagement,  and  he  's  going  around  making  a  noise  like 
a  broken  heart.  Now  we  come  to  it.  I  like  eggs.'5 

"  They  're  off !  "  Smoke  cried  in  despair.  "  Which 
way  ?  Which  way  ?  " 

"  Wait." 

"  But  what  have  eggs  and  appetite  got  to  do  with 
it?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Everything,  if  you  '11  only  listen." 

"  Listening,  listening,"  he  chanted. 

'''  Then  for  Heaven's  sake  listen.  I  like  eggs. 
There  's  only  a  limited  supply  of  eggs  in  Dawson." 

"  Sure.     I  know  that,  too.     Slavovitch's  restaurant 


258  SMOKE  BELLEW 

has  most  of  them.  Ham  and  one  egg,  three  dollars. 
Ham  and  two  eggs,  five  dollars.  That  means  two  dol 
lars  an  egg,  retail.  And  only  the  swells  and  the  Arrals 
and  the  Wild  Waters  can  afford  them." 

"  He  likes  eggs,  too/'  she  continued.  "  But  that 's 
not  the  point.  I  like  them.  I  have  breakfast  every 
morning  at  eleven  o'clock  at  Slavovitch's.  I  invar 
iably  eat  two  eggs."  She  paused  impressively. 
"  Suppose,  just  suppose,  somebody  corners  eggs." 

She  waited,  and  Smoke  regarded  her  with  admiring 
eyes,  while  in  his  heart  he  backed  with  approval  Wild 
Water's  choice  of  her. 

"  You  're  not  following,"  she  said. 

"Go  on,"  he  replied.  "I  give  up.  What's  the 
answer?  " 

"Stupid!  You  know  Wild  Water.  When  he 
sees  I  'm  languishing  for  eggs,  and  I  know  his  mind 
like  a  book,  and  I  know  how  to  languish,  what  will  he 
do?" 

"  You  answer  it.     Go  on." 

"  Why,  he  '11  just  start  stampeding  for  the  man 
that 's  got  the  corner  in  eggs.  He  '11  buy  the  corner, 
no  matter  what  it  costs.  Picture :  I  come  into  Slavo 
vitch's  at  eleven  o'clock.  Wild  Water  will  be  at  the 
next  table.  He  '11  make  it  his  business  to  be  there. 
*  Two  eggs,  shirred,'  I  '11  say  to  the  waiter.  *  Sorry, 
Miss  Arral,'  the  waiter  will  say ;  '  they  ain't  no  more 
eggs.'  Then  up  speaks  Wild  Water,  in  that  big  bear 
voice  of  his,  '  Waiter,  six  eggs,  soft  boiled/  And  the 
waiter  says,  '  Yes,  sir/  and  the  eggs  are  brought. 
Picture:  Wild  Water  looks  sideways  at  me,  and  I 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  259 

look  like  a  particularly  indignant  icicle  and  summon 
the  waiter.  '  Sorry,  Miss  Arral,'  he  says,  '  but  them 
eggs  is  Mr.  Wild  Water's.  You  see,  Miss,  he  owns 
'em.'  Picture:  Wild  Water,  triumphant,  doing  his 
best  to  look  unconscious  while  he  eats  his  six  eggs. 

"Another  picture:  Slavovitch  himself  bringing 
two  shirred  eggs  to  me  and  saying,  '  Compliments  of 
Mr.  Wild  Water,  Miss.'  What  can  I  do?  What  can 
I  possibly  do  but  smile  at  Wild  Water,  and  then  we 
make  up,  of  course,  and  he  '11  consider  it  cheap  if  he 
has  been  compelled  to  pay  ten  dollars  for  each  and 
every  egg  in  the  corner." 

"  Go  on,  go  on,"  Smoke  urged.  "  At  what  station 
do  I  climb  onto  the  choo-choo  cars,  or  at  what  water- 
tank  do  I  get  thrown  off  ?  " 

"  Ninny !  You  don't  get  thrown  off.  You  ride 
the  egg-train  straight  into  the  Union  Depot.  You 
make  that  corner  in  eggs.  You  start  in  immediately, 
to-day.  You  can  buy  every  egg  in  Da\vson  for  three 
dollars  and  sell  out  to  Wild  Water  at  almost  any  ad 
vance.  And  then,  afterward,  we  '11  let  the  inside  his 
tory  come  out.  The  laugh  \vill  be  on  Wild  WTater. 
His  turbulence  will  be  some  subdued.  You  and  I 
share  the  glory  of  it.  You  make  a  pile  of  money. 
And  Dawson  wakes  up  with  a  grand  ha!  ha!  Of 
course  —  if  —  if  you  think  the  speculation  too  risky, 
I  '11  put  up  the  dust  for  the  corner." 

This  last  was  too  much  for  Smoke.  Being  only  a 
mere  mortal  Western  man,  with  queer  obsessions  about 
money  and  women,  he  declined  with  scorn  the  proffer 
of  her  dust. 


260  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Hey !  Shorty !  "  Smoke  called  across  the  main 
street  to  his  partner,  who  was  trudging  along  in  his 
swift,  slack- jointed  way,  a  naked  bottle  with  frozen 
contents  conspicuously  tucked  under  his  arm.  Smoke 
crossed  over. 

"  Where  have  you  been  all  morning?  Been  looking 
for  you  everywhere." 

"  Up  to  Doc's,"  Shorty  answered,  holding  out  the 
bottle.  "  Something  's  wrong  with  Sally.  I  seen  last 
night,  at  feedin'-time,  the  hair  on  her  tail  an'  flanks 
was  fallin'  out.  The  Doc  says  —  " 

"  Never  mind  that,"  Smoke  broke  in  impatiently. 
"What  I  want  —  " 

"  What 's  eatin'  you  ?  "  Shorty  demanded  in  indig 
nant  astonishment.  "  An'  Sally  gettin'  naked  bald  in 
this  crimpy  weather !  I  tell  you  that  dog  's  sick.  Doc 
says  —  " 

"  Let  Sally  wait.     Listen  to  me  —  " 

"  I  tell  you  she  can't  wait.  It 's  cruelty  to  animals. 
She  '11  be  frost-bit.  What  are  you  in  such  a  fever 
about  anyway?  Has  that  Monte  Cristo  strike  proved 
up?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Shorty.  But  I  want  you  to  do  me 
a  favor." 

"  Sure,"  Shorty  said  gallantly,  immediately  ap 
peased  and  acquiescent.  "  What  is  it  ?  Let  her  rip. 
Me  for  you." 

"  I  want  you  to  buy  eggs  for  me  —  " 

"  Sure,  an'  Floridy  water  an'  talcum  powder,  if  you 
say  the  word.  An'  poor  Sally  sheddin'  something 
scand'lous!  Look  here,  Smoke,  if  you  want  to  go  in 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  261 

for  high  livin'  you  go  an'  buy  your  own  eggs.  Beans 
an'  bacon  's  good  enough  for  me." 

"  I  am  going  to  buy,  but  I  want  you  to  help  me  to 
buy.  Now,  shut  up,  Shorty.  I  've  got  the  floor. 
You  go  right  straight  to  Slavovitch's.  Pay  as  high  as 
three  dollars,  but  buy  all  he  's  got." 

"  Three  dollars !  "  Shorty  groaned.  "  An'  I  heard 
tell  only  yesterday  that  he  's  got  all  of  seven  hundred 
in  stock!  Twenty-one  hundred  dollars  for  hen-fruit! 
Say,  Smoke,  I  tell  you  what.  You  run  right  up  and 
see  the  Doc.  He  '11  tend  to  your  case.  An'  he  '11  only 
charge  you  an  ounce  for  the  first  prescription.  So- 
long.  I  gotta  to  be  pullin'  my  freight." 

He  started  off,  but  Smoke  caught  his  partner  by 
the  shoulder,  arresting  his  progress  and  whirling  him 
around. 

"  Smoke,  I  'd  sure  do  anything  for  you,"  Shorty 
protested  earnestly.  "If  you  had  a  cold  in  the  head 
an'  was  layin'  with  both  arms  broke,  I  'd  set  by  your 
bedside,  day  an'  night,  an'  wipe  your  nose  for  you. 
But  I  '11  be  everlastin'ly  damned  if  I  '11  squander 
twenty-one  hundred  good  iron  dollars  on  hen-fruit  for 
you  or  any  other  two-legged  man." 

'''  They  're  not  your  dollars,  but  mine,  Shorty.  It 's 
a  deal  I  have  on.  What  I  'm  after  is  to  corner  every 
blessed  egg  in  Dawson,  in  the  Klondike,  on  the  Yukon. 
You  've  got  to  help  me  out.  I  have  n't  the  time  to  tell 
you  of  the  inwardness  of  the  deal.  I  will  afterward, 
and  let  you  go  half  on  it  if  you  want  to.  But  the 
thing  right  now  is  to  get  the  eggs.  Now  you  hustle 
up  to  Slavovitch's  and  buy  all  he  's  got." 


262  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"But  what '11  I  tell  'm?  He'll  sure  know  I  ain't 
goin'  to  eat  'em." 

"  Tell  him  nothing.  Money  talks.  He  sells  them 
cooked  for  two  dollars.  Offer  him  up  to  three  for 
them  uncooked.  If  he  gets  curious,  tell  him  you  're 
starting  a  chicken  ranch.  What  I  want  is  the  eggs. 
And  then  keep  on;  nose  out  every  egg  in  Dawson 
and  buy  it.  Understand?  Buy  it!  That  little  joint 
across  the  street  from  Slavovitch's  has  a  few.  Buy 
them.  I  'm  going  over  to  Klondike  City.  There  's 
an  old  man  there,  with  a  bad  leg,  who  's  broke  and 
who  has  six  dozen.  He  's  held  them  all  winter  for 
the  rise,  intending  to  get  enough  out  of  them  to  pay  his 
passage  back  to  Seattle.  I  '11  see  he  gets  his  passage, 
and  I  '11  get  the  eggs.  Now  hustle.  And  they  say 
that  little  woman  down  beyond  the  sawmill  who  makes 
moccasins  has  a  couple  of  dozen." 

"  All  right,  if  you  say  so,  Smoke.  But  Slavovitch 
seems  the  main  squeeze.  I  '11  just  get  an  iron-bound 
option,  black  an'  white,  an'  gather  in  the  scatterin' 
first." 

"  All  right.  Hustle.  And  I  '11  tell  you  the  scheme 
to-night." 

But  Shorty  flourished  the  bottle.  "  I  'm  goin'  to 
doctor  up  Sally  first.  The  eggs  can  wait  that  long. 
If  they  ain't  all  eaten,  they  won't  be  eaten  while  I  'm 
takin'  care  of  a  poor  sick  dog  that 's  saved  your  life 


an'  mine  more  'n  once." 


Never  was  a  market  cornered  more  quickly.  In 
three  days  every  known  egg  in  Dawson,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  several  dozen,  was  in  the  hands  of 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  263 

Smoke  and  Shorty.  Smoke  had  been  more  liberal  in 
purchasing.  He  unblushingly  pleaded  guilty  to  having 
given  the  old  man  in  Klondike  City  five  dollars  apiece 
for  his  seventy-two  eggs.  Shorty  had  bought  most 
of  the  eggs,  and  he  had  driven  bargains.  He  had 
given  only  two  dollars  an  egg  to  the  woman  who  made 
moccasins,  and  he  prided  himself  that  he  had  come 
off  fairly  well  with  Slavovitch,  whose  seven  hundred 
and  fifteen  eggs  he  had  bought  at  a  flat  rate  of  two 
dollars  and  a  half.  On  the  other  hand,  he  grumbled 
because  the  little  restaurant  across  the  street  had  held 
him  up  for  twro  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  for  a 
paltry  hundred  and  thirty-four  eggs. 

The  several  dozen  not  yet  gathered  in  were  in  the 
hands  of  two  persons.  One,  with  whom  Shorty  wras 
dealing,  was  an  Indian  woman  who  lived  in  a  cabin 
on  the  hill  back  of  the  hospital. 

"  I  '11  get  her  to-day,"  Shorty  announced  next  morn 
ing.  "  You  wash  the  dishes,  Smoke.  I  '11  be  back  in 
a  jiffy,  if  I  don't  bust  myself  a-shovin'  dust  at  her. 
Gimme  a  man  to  deal  with  every  time.  These  blamed 
women  —  it 's  something  sad  the  way  they  can  hold 
out  on  a  buyer.  The  only  way  to  get  'em  is  sellin'. 
Why,  you'd  think  them  eggs  of  hern  was  solid  nug 
gets." 

In  the  afternoon,  when  Smoke  returned  to  the  cabin, 
he  found  Shorty  squatted  on  the  floor,  rubbing  oint 
ment  into  Sally's  tail,  his  countenance  so  expression 
less  that  it  was  suspicious. 

"What  luck?"  Shorty  asked  carelessly,  after  sev 
eral  minutes  had  passed. 


264  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Nothing  doing/'  Smoke  answered.  "  How  did 
you  get  on  with  the  squaw?  " 

Shorty  cocked  his  head  triumphantly  toward  a  tin 
pail  of  eggs  on  the  table.  "  Seven  dollars  a  clatter, 
though,"  he  confessed,  after  another  minute  of  silent 
rubbing. 

"  I  offered  ten  dollars  finally,"  Smoke  said,  "  and 
then  the  fellow  told  me  he  'd  already  sold  his  eggs. 
Now  that  looks  bad,  Shorty.  Somebody  else  is  in  the 
market.  Those  twenty-eight  eggs  are  liable  to  cause 
us  trouble.  You  see,  the  success  of  the  corner  con 
sists  in  holding  every  last  —  " 

He  broke  off  to  stare  at  his  partner.  A  pronounced 
change  was  coming  over  Shorty  —  one  of  agitation 
masked  by  extreme  deliberation.  He  closed  the  salve- 
box,  wiped  his  hands  slowly  and  thoroughly  on  Sally's 
furry  coat,  stood  up,  went  over  to  the  corner  and 
looked  at  the  thermometer,  and  came  back  again.  He 
spoke  in  a  low,  toneless,  and  super-polite  voice. 

"  Do  you  mind  kindly  just  repeating  over  how  many 
eggs  you  said  the  man  did  n't  sell  to  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  Twenty-eight." 

"  Hum,"  Shorty  communed  to  himself,  with  a  slight 
duck  of  the  head  of  careless  acknowledgment.  Then 
he  glanced  with  slumbering  anger  at  the  stove. 
"  Smoke,  we  '11  have  to  dig  up  a  new  stove.  That 
fire-box  is  burned  plumb  into  the  oven  so  it  blacks  the 
biscuits." 

"  Let  the  fire-box  alone,"  Smoke  commanded,  "  and 
tell  me  what 's  the  matter." 

"  Matter  ?     An'  you  want  to  know  what 's  the  mat- 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  265 

ter?  Well,  kindly  please  direct  them  handsome  eyes 
of  yotirn  at  that  there  pail  settin'  on  the  table.  See 
it?'" 

Smoke  nodded. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  tell  you  one  thing,  just  one  thing. 
They  's  just  exactly,  preecisely,  nor  nothin'  more  or 
anythin'  less  'n  twenty-eight  eggs  in  the  pail,  an'  they 
cost,  every  danged  last  one  of  'em,  just  exactly  seven 
great  big  round  iron  dollars  a  throw.  If  you  stand 
in  cryin'  need  of  any  further  items  of  information,  I  'm 
willin'  and  free  to  impart." 

"  Go  on,"  Smoke  requested. 

"  Well,  that  geezer  you  was  dickerin'  with  is  a  big 
buck  Indian.  Am  I  right  ?  " 

Smoke  nodded,  and  continued  to  nod  to  each  ques 
tion. 

"  He  's  got  one  cheek  half  gone  where  a  bald- face 
grizzly  swatted  him.  Am  I  right?  He's  a  dog- 
trader  —  right,  eh  ?  His  name  is  Scar-Face  Jim. 
That 's  so,  ain't  it?  D  'ye  get  my  drift?  " 

"  You  mean  we  've  been  bidding  —  " 

"Against  each  other.  Sure  thing.  That  squaw  's 
his  wife,  an'  they  keep  house  on  the  hill  back  of  the 
hospital.  I  could  'a'  got  them  eggs  for  two  a  throw 
if  you  had  n't  butted  in." 

"  And  so  could  I,"  Smoke  laughed,  "  if  you  'd  kept 
out,  blame  you !  But  it  does  n't  amount  to  anything. 
We  know  that  we  've  got  the  corner.  That 's  the  big 
thing." 

Shorty  spent  the  next  hour  wrestling  with  a  stub 
of  a  pencil  on  the  margin  of  a  three-year-old  news- 


266  SMOKE  BELLEW 

paper,  and  the  more  interminable  and  hieroglyphic 
grew  his  figures  the  more  cheerful  he  became. 

"  There  she  stands,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Pretty?  I 
guess  yes.  Lemme  give  you  the  totals.  You  an*  me 
has  right  now  in  our  possession  exactly  nine  hundred 
an'  seventy-three  eggs.  They  cost  us  exactly  two 
thousand,  seven  hundred  an'  sixty  dollars,  reckonin' 
dust  at  sixteen  an  ounce  an'  not  countin'  time.  An' 
now  listen  to  me.  If  we  stick  up  Wild  Water  for  ten 
dollars  a  egg  we  stand  to  win,  clean  net  an'  all  to  the 
good,  just  exactly  six  thousand  nine  hundred  and 
seventy  dollars.  Now  that 's  a  book-makin'  what  is, 
if  anybody  should  ride  up  on  a  dog-sled  an'  ask  you. 
An'  I  'm  in  half  on  it !  Put  her  there,  Smoke.  I  'm 
that  thankful  I  'm  sure  droolin'  gratitude.  Book- 
makin'  !  Say,  I  'd  sooner  run  with  the  chicks  than  the 
ponies  any  day." 

At  eleven  that  night  Smoke  was  routed  from  sound 
sleep  by  Shorty,  whose  fur  parka  exhaled  an  atmos 
phere  of  keen  frost  and  whose  hand  was  extremely 
cold  in  its  contact  with  Smoke's  cheek. 

"What  is  it  now?"  Smoke  grumbled.  "Rest  of 
Sally's  hair  fallen  out?" 

"  Nope.  But  I  just  had  to  tell  you  the  good  news. 
I  seen  Slavovitch.  Or  Slavovitch  seen  me,  I  guess,  be 
cause  he  started  the  seance.  He  says  to  me :  '  Shorty, 
I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  them  eggs.  I  've  kept  it 
quiet.  Nobody  knows  I  sold  'em  to  you.  But  if 
you  're  speculatin',  I  can  put  you  wise  to  a  good  thing.' 
An'  he  did,  too,  Smoke.  Now  what  'd  you  guess  that 
good  thing  is  ?  " 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  267 

"  Go  on.     Name  it." 

"  Well,  maybe  it  sounds  uncredible,  but  that  good 
thing  was  Wild  Water  Charley.  He  's  lookin'  to  buy 
eggs.  He  goes  around  to  Slavovitch  an'  offers  him 
five  dollars  an  egg,  an'  before  he  quits  he  's  offerin' 
eight.  An'  Slavovitch  ain't  got  no  eggs.  Last  thing 
Wild  Water  says  to  Slavovitch  is  that  he  '11  beat  the 
head  offen  him  if  he  ever  finds  out  Slavovitch  has  eggs 
cached  away  somewheres.  Slavovitch  had  to  tell  'm 
he  'd  sold  the  eggs,  but  that  the  buyer  was  secret. 

"  Slavovitch  says  to  let  him  say  the  word-  to  Wild 
Water  who  's  got  the  eggs.  '  Shorty,'  he  says  to  me, 
'  Wild  Water  '11  come  a-runnin'.  You  can  hold  him 
up  for  eight  dollars.'  '  Eight  dollars,  your  grand 
mother,'  I  says.  '  He  '11  fall  for  ten  before  I  'm  done 
with  him.'  Anyway,  I  told  Slavovitch  I  'd  think  it 
over  and  let  him  know  in  the  mornin'.  Of  course 
we  '11  let  'm  pass  the  word  on  to  Wild  Water.  Am  I 
right?" 

"  You  certainly  are,  Shorty.  First  thing  in  the 
morning  tip  off  Slavovitch.  Have  him  tell  Wild 
Water  that  you  and  I  are  partners  in  the  deal." 

Five  minutes  later  Smoke  was  again  aroused  by 
Shorty. 

"Say!  Smoke!     Oh,  Smoke!" 

"Yes?" 

"  Not  a  cent  less  than  ten  a  throw.  Do  you  get 
that?" 

"  Sure  thing  —  all  right,"  Smoke  returned  sleepily. 

In  the  morning  Smoke  chanced  upon  Lucille  Arral 
again  at  the  dry-goods  counter  of  the  A.  C.  Store. 


268  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"It's  working,"  he  jubilated.  "It's  working. 
Wild  Water  's  been  around  to  Slavovitch,  trying  to  buy 
or  bully  eggs  out  of  him.  And  by  this  time  Slavo 
vitch  has  told  him  that  Shorty  and  I  own  the  corner." 

Lucille  Arral's  eyes  sparkled  with  delight.  "  I  'm 
going  to  breakfast  right  now,"  she  cried.  "  And  I  '11 
ask  the  waiter  for  eggs,  and  be  so  plaintive  when  there 
are  n't  any  as  to  melt  a  heart  of  stone.  And  you  know 
Wild  Water  's  been  around  to  Slavovitch,  trying  to  buy 
the  corner  if  it  costs  him  one  of  his  mines.  I  know 
him.  And  hold  out  for  a  stiff  figure.  Nothing  less 
than  ten  dollars  will  satisfy  me,  and  if  you  sell  for 
anything  less,  Smoke,  I  '11  never  forgive  you." 

That  noon,  up  in  their  cabin,  Shorty  placed  on  the 
table  a  pot  of  beans,  a  pot  of  coffee,  a  pan  of  sour 
dough  biscuits,  a  tin  of  butter  and  a  tin  of  condensed 
cream,  a  smoking  platter  of  moose-meat  and  bacon, 
a  plate  of  stewed  dried  peaches,  and  called :  "  Grub  's 
ready.  Take  a  slant  at  Sally  first." 

Smoke  put  aside  the  harness  on  which  he  was  sew 
ing,  opened  the  door,  and  saw  Sally  and  Bright 
spiritedly  driving  away  a  bunch  of  foraging  sled- 
dogs  that  belonged  to  the  next  cabin.  Also  he  saw 
something  else  that  made  him  close  the  door  hurriedly 
and  dash  to  the  stove.  The  frying-pan,  still  hot  from 
the  moose-meat  and  bacon,  he  put  back  on  the  front 
lid.  Into  the  frying-pan  he  put  a  generous  dab  of 
butter,  then  reached  for  an  egg,  which  he  broke  and 
dropped  spluttering  into  the  pan.  As  he  reached  for 
a  second  egg,  Shorty  gained  his  side  and  clutched  his 
arm  in  an  excited  grip. 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  269 

"  Hey!     What  you  doin'?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Frying  eggs,"  Smoke  informed  him,  breaking  the 
second  one  and  throwing  off  Shorty's  detaining  hand. 
"  What 's  the  matter  with  your  eyesight  ?  Did  you 
think  I  was  combing  my  hair?  " 

"Don't  you  feel  well?"  Shorty  queried  anxiously, 
as  Smoke  broke  a  third  egg  and  dexterously  thrust 
him  back  with  a  stiff-arm  jolt  on  the  breast.  "  Or  are 
you  just  plain  loco?  That's  thirty  dollars'  worth  of 
eggs  already." 

"  And  I  'm  going  to  make  it  sixty  dollars'  worth," 
was  the  answer,  as  Smoke  broke  the  fourth.  "  Get 
out  of  the  way,  Shorty.  Wild  Water's  coming  up 
the  hill,  and  he  '11  be  here  in  five  minutes." 

Shorty  sighed  vastly  with  commingled  comprehen 
sion  and  relief,  and  sat  down  at  the  table.  By  the 
time  the  expected  knock  came  at  the  door,  Smoke  was 
facing  him  across  the  table,  and,  before  each,  was  a 
plate  containing  three  hot,  fried  eggs. 

"  Come  in!  "  Smoke  called. 

Wild  Water  Charley,  a  strapping  young  giant  just 
a  fraction  of  an  inch  under  six  feet  in  height  and 
carrying  a  clean  weight  of  one  hundred  and  ninety 
pounds,  entered  and  shook  hands. 

"  Set  down  an'  have  a  bite,  Wild  Water,"  Shorty 
invited.  "  Smoke,  fry  him  some  eggs.  I  '11  bet  he 
ain't  scoffed  an  egg  in  a  coon's  age." 

Smoke  broke  three  more  eggs  into  the  hot  pan,  and 
in  several  minutes  placed  them  before  his  guest,  who 
looked  at  them  with  so  strange  and  strained  an  expres 
sion  that  Shorty  confessed  afterward  his  fear  that 


270  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Wild  Water  would  slip  them  into  his  pocket  and  carry 
them  away. 

"  Say,  them  swells  down  in  the  States  ain't  got 
nothin'  over  us  in  the  matter  of  eats,"  Shorty  gloated. 
"  Here  's  you  an'  me  an'  Smoke  gettin'  outside  ninety 
dollars'  worth  of  eggs  an'  not  battin'  an  eye." 

Wild  Water  stared  at  the  rapidly  disappearing  eggs 
and  seemed  petrified. 

"  Pitch  in  an'  eat/'  Smoke  encouraged. 

"They  —  they  ain't  worth  no  ten  dollars,"  Wild 
Water  said  slowly. 

Shorty  accepted  the  challenge.  "  A  thing  's  worth 
what  you  can  get  for  it,  ain  't  it  ?  "  he  demanded, 

"Yes,  but  —  " 

"  But  nothin'.  I  'm  tellin'  you  what  we  can  get 
for  'em.  Ten  a  throw,  just  like  that.  We  're  the 
egg  trust,  Smoke  an'  me,  an'  don't  you  forget  it. 
When  we  say  ten  a  throw,  ten  a  throw  goes."  He 
mopped  his  plate  with  a  biscuit.  "  I  could  almost 
eat  a  couple  more,"  he  sighed,  then  helped  himself  to 
the  beans. 

"  You  can't  eat  eggs  like  that,"  Wild  Water  objected. 
"It  — it  ain't  right." 

"We  just  dote  on  eggs,  Smoke  an'  me,"  was  Shorty's 
excuse. 

Wild  Water  finished  his  own  plate  in  a  half-hearted 
way  and  gazed  dubiously  at  the  two  comrades.  "  Say, 
you  fellows  can  do  me  a  great  favor,"  he  began  tenta 
tively.  "  Sell  me,  or  lend  me,  or  give  me,  about  a 
dozen  of  them  eggs." 

"  Sure,"  Smoke  answered.     "  I  know  what  a  yearn- 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  271 

ing  for  eggs  is  myself.  But  we  're  not  so  poor  that  we 
have  to  sell  our  hospitality.  They  '11  cost  you  noth 
ing  —  "  Here  a  sharp  kick  under  the  table  admon 
ished  him  that  Shorty  was  getting  nervous.  "  A 
dozen,  did  you  say,  Wild  Water  ?  " 

Wild  Water  nodded. 

"  Go  ahead,  Shorty,"  Smoke  went  on.  "  Cook 
them  up  for  him.  I  can  sympathize.  I  've  seen  the 
time  myself  when  I  could  eat  a  dozen,  straight  off  the 
bat." 

But  Wild  Water  laid  a  restraining  hand  on  the  eager 
Shorty  as  he  explained.  "  I  don't  mean  cooked.  I 
want  them  with  the  shells  on." 

"  So  that  you  can  carry  'em  away?  " 

"  That 's  the  idea." 

"But  that  ain't  hospitality,"  Shorty  objected. 
«  It 's  —  it 's  tradinV 

Smoke  nodded  concurrence.  "  That 's  different. 
Wild  Water.  I  thought  you  just  wanted  to  eat  them. 
You  see,  we  went  into  this  for  a  speculation." 

The  dangerous  blue  of  Wild  Water's  eyes  began  to 
grow  more  dangerous.  "  I  '11  pay  you  for  them,"  he 
said  sharply.  "How  much?" 

"  Oh,  not  a  dozen,"  Smoke  replied.  "  We  could  n't 
sell  a  dozen.  We  're  not  retailers ;  we  're  speculators. 
We  can't  break  our  own  market.  We  've  got  a  hard 
and  fast  corner,  and  when  we  sell  out  it 's  the  whole 
corner  or  nothing." 

"  How  many  have  you  got,  and  how  much  do  you 
want  for  them?  " 

"How  many  have  we,  Shorty?"  Smoke  inquired. 


272  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Shorty  cleared  his  throat  and  performed  mental 
arithmetic  aloud.  "  Lemme  see.  Nine  hundred  an' 
seventy-three  minus  nine,  that  leaves  nine  hundred 
an'  sixty-two.  An'  the  whole  shootin'-match,  at  ten  a 
throw,  will  tote  up  just  about  nine  thousand  six  hun 
dred  an'  twenty  iron  dollars.  Of  course,  Wild  Water, 
we  're  playin'  fair,  an*  it 's  money  back  for  bad  ones, 
though  they  ain't  none.  That  Js  one  thing  I  never 
seen  in  the  Klondike  —  a  bad  egg.  No  man  Js  fool 
enough  to  bring  in  a  bad  egg." 

"  That 's  fair,"  Smoke  added.  "  Money  back  for 
the  bad  ones,  Wild  Water.  And  there  's  our  proposi 
tion  —  nine  thousand  six  hundred  and  twenty  dollars 
for  every  egg  in  the  Klondike." 

'  You  might  play  them  up  to  twenty  a  throw  an* 
double  your  money,"  Shorty  suggested. 

Wild  Water  shook  his  head  sadly  and  helped  him 
self  to  the  beans.  :(  That  would  be  too  expensive, 
Shorty.  I  only  want  a  few.  I  '11  give  you  ten  dollars 
for  a  couple  of  dozen.  I  '11  give  you  twenty  —  but 
I  can't  buy  'em  all." 

"  All  or  none,"  was  Smoke's  ultimatum. 

"  Look  here,  you  two,"  Wild  Water  said  in  a  burst 
of  confidence.  "  I  '11  be  perfectly  honest  with  you, 
an'  don't  let  it  go  any  further.  You  know  Miss  Arral 
an'  I  was  engaged.  Well,  she 's  broken  everything 
off.  You  know  it.  Everybody  knows  it.  It 's  for 
her  I  want  them  eggs." 

"  Huh !  "  Shorty  jeered.  "  It 's  clear  an'  plain  why 
you  want  'em  with  the  shells, on.  But  I  never  thought 
it  of  you." 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  273 

"Thought  what?" 

"  It 's  low-down  mean,  that 's  what  it  is,"  Shorty 
rushed  on,  virtuously  indignant.  "  I  would  n't  won 
der  somebody  filled  you  full  of  lead  for  it,  an'  you  'd 
deserve  it,  too." 

Wild  Water  began  to  flame  toward  the  verge  of 
one  of  his  notorious  Berserker  rages.  His  hands 
clenched  until  the  cheap  fork  in  one  of  them  began 
to  bend,  while  his  blue  eyes  flashed  warning  sparks. 
"Now  look  here,  Shorty,  just  what  do  you  mean? 
If  you  think  anything  underhanded  —  " 

"  I  mean  what  I  mean,"  Shorty  retorted  doggedly, 
"  an'  you  bet  your  sweet  life  I  don't  mean  anything 
underhanded.  Overhand 's  the  only  way  to  do  it. 
You  can't  throw  'em  any  other  way." 

"Throw  what?" 

"  Eggs,  prunes,  baseballs,  anything.  But  Wild 
Water,  you  're  makin'  a  mistake.  They  ain't  no 
crowd  ever  sat  at  the  Opery  House  that  '11  stand  for  it. 
Just  because  she 's  a  actress  is  no  reason  you  can 
publicly  lambaste  her  with  hen-fruit." 

For  the  moment  it  seemed  that  Wild  Water  was 
going  to  burst  or  have  apoplexy.  He  gulped  down  a 
mouthful  of  scalding  coffee  and  slowly  recovered 
himself. 

'  You  're  in  wrong,  Shorty,"  he  said  with  cold  de 
liberation.  "  I  'm  not  going  to  throw  eggs  at  her. 
Why,  man,"  he  cried,  with  growing  excitement,  "  I 
want  to  give  them  eggs  to  her,  on  a  platter,  shirred  — 
that 's  the  way  she  likes  'em." 

"  I  knowed  I  was  wrong,"  Shorty  cried  generously. 


274  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  I  knowed  you  could  n't  do  a  low-down  trick  like 
that." 

"  That 's  all  right,  Shorty,"  Wild  Water  forgave 
him.  "  But  let 's  get  down  to  business.  You  see 
why  I  want  them  eggs.  I  want  'em  bad." 

"  Do  you  want  'em  ninety-six  hundred  an'  twenty 
dollars'  worth?  "  Shorty  queried. 

"  It 's  a  hold-up,  that 's  what  it  is,"  Wild  Water 
declared  irately. 

"  It 's  business,"  Smoke  retorted.  "  You  don't 
think  we're  peddling  eggs  for  our  health,  do  you?" 

"  Aw,  listen  to  reason,"  Wild  Water  pleaded.  "  I 
only  want  a  couple  of  dozen.  I  '11  give  you  twenty 
apiece  for  'em.  What  do  I  want  with  all  the  rest  of 
them  eggs  ?  I  've  went  years  in  this  country  without 
eggs,  an'  I  guess  I  can  keep  on  managin'  without  'em 
somehow." 

"  Don't  get  het  up  about  it,"  Shorty  counseled.  "  If 
you  don't  want  'em,  that  settles  it.  We  ain't  a-forcin' 
'em  on  you." 

"  But  I  do  want  'em,"  Wild  Water  complained. 

"  Then  you  know  what  they  '11  cost  you  —  ninety- 
six  hundred  an'  twenty  dollars,  an'  if  my  figurin's 
wrong,  I  '11  treat." 

"  But  maybe  they  won't  turn  the  trick,"  Wild  Water 
objected.  "  Maybe  Miss  Arral  's  lost  her  taste  for 
eggs  by  this  time." 

"  I  should  say  Miss  Arral  's  worth  the  price  of  the 
eggs,"  Smoke  put  in  quietly. 

"Worth  it!"  Wild  Water  stood  up  in  the  heat 
of  his  eloquence.  "  She  's  worth  a  million  dollars. 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  275 

She  's  worth  all  I  've  got.  She  's  worth  all  the  dust  in 
Klondike."  He  sat  down,  and  went  on  in  a  calmer 
voice.  "  But  that  ain't  no  call  for  me  to  gamble  ten 
thousand  dollars  on  a  breakfast  for  her.  Now  I  've 
got  a  proposition.  Lend  'me  a  couple  of  dozen  of 
them  eggs.  I  '11  turn  'em  over  to  Slavovitch.  He  '11 
feed  'em  to  her  with  my  compliments.  She  ain't 
smiled  to  me  for  a  hundred  years.  If  them  eggs  gets 
a  smile  for  me,  I  '11  take  the  whole  boiling  off  your 
hands." 

"  Will  you  sign  a  contract  to  that  effect?  "  Smoke 
said  quickly;  for  he  knew  that  Lucille  Arral  had  agreed 
to  smile. 

"Wild  Water  gasped.  "  You  're  almighty  swift  with 
business  up  here  on  the  hill,"  he  said,  with  a  hint  of  a 
snarl. 

"  We  're  only  accepting  your  own  proposition," 
Smoke  answered. 

"  All  right  —  bring  on  the  paper  — make  it  out, 
hard  and  fast,"  Wild  Water  cried  in  the  anger  of  sur 
render. 

Smoke  immediately  wrote  out  the  document,  wherein 
Wild  Water  agreed  to  take  every  egg  delivered  to  him 
at  ten  dollars  per  egg,  provided  that  the  two  dozen  ad 
vanced  to  him  brought  about  a  reconciliation  with 
Lucille  Arral. 

Wild  Water  paused,  with  uplifted  pen,  as  he  was 
about  to  sign.  "  Hold  on,"  he  said.  "  When  I  buy 
eggs  I  buy  good  eggs." 

"  They  ain't  a  bad  egg  in  the  Klondike,"  Shorty 
snorted. 


276  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Just  the  same,  if  I  find  one  bad  egg  you  Ve  got  to 
come  back  with  the  ten  I  paid  for  it." 

"  That 's  all  right,"  Smoke  placated.  "  It 's  only 
fair." 

"  An*  every  bad  egg  you  come  back  with  I  '11  eat," 
Shorty  declared. 

Smoke  inserted  the  word  "  good  "  in  the  contract, 
and  Wild  Water  sullenly  signed,  received  the  trial  two 
dozen  in  a  tin  pail,  pulled  on  his  mittens,  and  opened 
the  door. 

"  Good-by,  you  robbers,"  he  growled  back  at  them, 
and  slammed  the  door. 

Smoke  was  a  witness  to  the  play  next  morning  in 
Slavovitch's.  He  sat,  as  Wild  Water's  guest,  at  the 
table  adjoining  Lucille  Arral's.  Almost  to  the  letter, 
as  she  had  forecast  it,  did  the  scene  come  off. 

"Haven't  you  found  any  eggs  yet?"  she  mur 
mured  plaintively  to  the  waiter. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  came  the  answer.  "  They  say  some 
body 's  cornered  every  egg  in  Dawson.  Mr.  Slavo- 
vitch  is  trying  to  buy  a  few  just  especially  for  you. 
But  the  fellow  that 's  got  the  corner  won't  let  loose." 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Wild  Water  beckoned 
the  proprietor  to  him,  and,  with  one  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  drew  his  head  down.  "  Look  here,  Slavo- 
vitch,"  Wild  Water  whispered  hoarsely,  "  I  turned 
over  a  couple  of  dozen  eggs  to  you  last  night.  Where 
are  they?" 

"  In  the  safe,  all  but  that  six  I  have  all  thawed  and 
ready  for  you  any  time  you  sing  out." 

"I    don't    want    'em    for    myself,"    Wild    Water 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  277 

breathed  in  a  still  lower  voice.  "  Shir  'em  up  and 
present  'em  to  Miss  Arral  there." 

"  I  '11  attend  to  it  personally  myself,"  Slavovitch 
assured  him. 

"  An'  don't  forget  —  compliments  of  me,"  Wild 
Water  concluded,  relaxing  his  detaining  clutch  on  the 
proprietor's  shoulder. 

Pretty  Lucille  Arral  was  gazing  forlornly  at  the 
strip  of  breakfast  bacon  and  the  tinned  mashed  po 
tatoes  on  her  plate  when  Slavovitch  placed  before  her 
two  shirred  eggs. 

"  Compliments  of  Mr.  Wild  Water,"  they  at  the 
next  table  heard  him  say. 

Smoke  acknowledged  to  himself  that  it  was  a  fine 
bit  of  acting  —  the  quick,  joyous  flash  in  the  face  of 
her,  the  impulsive  turn  of  the  head,  the  spontaneous 
forerunner  of  a  smile  that  was  only  checked  by  a  su 
perb  self-control  which  resolutely  drew  her  face  back 
so  that  she  could  say  something  to  the  restaurant 
proprietor. 

Smoke  felt  the  kick  of  Wild  Water's  moccasined 
foot  under  the  table. 

{t  Will  she  eat  'em  ?  —  that 's  the  question  —  will 
she  eat  'em  ?  "  the  latter  whispered  agonizingly. 

And  with  sidelong  glances  they  saw  Lucille  Arral 
hesitate,  almost  push  the  dish  from  her,  then  surrender 
to  its  lure. 

"  I  '11  take  them  eggs,"  Wild  Water  said  to  Smoke. 

'  The  contract  holds.     Did  you  see  her?     Did  you  see 

her !     She  almost  smiled.     I  know  her.     It 's  all  fixed. 

Two  more  eggs  to-morrow  an'  she  '11  forgive  an'  make 


278  SMOKE  BELLEW 

up.  If  she  was  n't  here  I  'd  shake  hands,  Smoke,  I  sm 
that  grateful.  You  ain't  a  robber ;  you  're  a  philan 
thropist." 

Smoke  returned  jubilantly  up  the  hill  to  the  cabin, 
only  to  find  Shorty  playing  solitaire  in  black  despair. 
Smoke  had  long  since  learned  that  whenever  his 
partner  got  out  the  cards  for  solitaire  it  was  a  warning 
signal  that  the  bottom  had  dropped  out  of  the  world. 

"  Go  'way,  don't  talk  to  me,"  was  the  first  rebuff 
Smoke  received. 

But  Shorty  soon  thawed  into  a  freshet  of  speech. 

"It's  all  off  with  the  big  Swede,"  he  groaned. 
"  The  corner  's  busted.  They  '11  be  sellin'  sherry  an' 
egg  in  all  the  saloons  to-morrow  at  a  dollar  a  flip. 
They  ain't  no  starvin'  orphan  child  in  Dawson  that 
won't  be  wrappin'  its  tummy  around  eggs.  What 
d'  ye  think  I  run;  into  ?  —  a  geezer  with  three  thousan' 
eggs  —  d'ye  get  me?  Three  thousan',  an'  just 
freighted  in  from  Forty  Mile." 

"  Fairy  stories,"  Smoke  doubted. 

"  Fairy  hell !  I  seen  them  eggs.  Gautereaux  's  his 
name  —  a  whackin'  big,  blue-eyed  French-Canadian 
husky.  He  asked  for  you  first,  then  took  me  to  the 
side  and  jabbed  me  straight  to  the  heart.  It  was  our 
cornerin'  eggs  that  got  him  started.  He  knowed  about 
them  three  thousan'  at  Forty  Mile  an'  just  went  an'  got 
'em.  '  Show  'em  to  me,'  I  says.  An'  he  did.  There 
was  his  dog-teams,  an'  a  couple  of  Indian  drivers, 
restin'  down  the  bank  where  they  'd  just  pulled  in  from 
Forty  Mile.  An'  on  the  sleds  was  soap-boxes  —  teeny 
wooden  soap-boxes. 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  279 

"  We  took  one  out  behind  a  ice-jam  in  the  middle 
of  the  river  an'  busted  it  open.  Eggs !  —  full  of  'em, 
all  packed  in  sawdust.  Smoke,  you  an'  me  lose. 
We  've  been  gamblin'.  D'  ye  know  what  he  had  the 
gall  to  say  to  me  ?  —  that  they  was  all  ourn  at  ten  dol 
lars  a  egg.  D'  ye  know  what  he  was  doin'  when  I  left 
his  cabin?  —  drawin'  a  sign  of  eggs  for  sale.  Said 
he  'd  give  us  first  choice,  at  ten  a  throw,  till  2  p.  M., 
an'  after  that,  if  we  did  n't  come  across,  he  'd  bust  the 
market  higher  'n  a  kite.  Said  he  was  n't  no  business 
man,  but  that  he  knowed  a  good  thing  when  he  seen 
it  —  meanin'  you  an'  me,  as  I  took  it." 

"It's  all  right,"  Smoke  said  cheerfully.  "Keep 
your  shirt  on  an'  let  me  think  a  moment.  Quick  action 
and  team  play  is  all  that 's  needed.  I  '11  get  Wild 
Water  here  at  two  o'clock  to  take  delivery  of  eggs. 
You  buy  that  Gautereaux's  eggs.  Try  and  make  a 
bargain.  Even  if  you  pay  ten  dollars  apiece  for  them, 
Wild  Water  will  take  them  off  our  hands  at  the  same 
price.  If  you  can  get  them  cheaper,  why,  we  make  a 
profit  as  well.  Now  go  to  it.  Have  them  here  by 
not  later  than  two  o'clock.  Borrow  Colonel  Bowie's 
dogs  and  take  our  team.  Have  them  here  by  two 
sharp." 

"  Say,  Smoke,"  Shorty  called,  as  his  partner  started 
down  the  hill.  "  Better  take  an  umbrella.  I  would  n't 
be  none  surprised  to  see  the  weather  rainin'  eggs  be 
fore  you  get  back." 

Smoke  found  Wild  Water  at  the  M.  &  M.,  and  a 
stormy  half-hour  ensued. 

"  I  warn  you  we  Ve  picked  up  some  more  eggs," 


280  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Smoke  said,  after  Wild  Water  had  agreed  to  bring  his 
dust  to  the  cabin  at  two  o'clock  and  pay  on  delivery. 

"  You  're  luckier  at  finding  eggs  than  me,"  Wild 
Water  admitted,  "  Now,  how  many  eggs  have  you 
got  now  ?  —  an'  how  much  dust  do  I  tote  up  the  hill  ?  " 

Smoke  consulted  his  notebook.  "  As  it  stands  now, 
according  to  Shorty's  figures,  we  Ve  three  thousand 
nine  hundred  and  sixty-two  eggs.  Multiply  by  ten  - 

"  Forty  thousand  dollars !  "  Wild  Water  bellowed. 
"  You  said  there  was  only  something  like  nine  hun 
dred  eggs.  It 's  a  stickup!  I  won't  stand  for  it!  " 

Smoke  drew  the  contract  from  his  pocket  and 
pointed  to  the  pay  on  delivery.  "  No  mention  is  made 
of  the  number  of  eggs  to  be  delivered.  You  agreed 
to  pay  ten  dollars  for  every  egg  wre  delivered  to  you. 
Well,  we  Ve  got  the  eggs,  and  a  signed  contract  is  a 
signed  contract.  Honestly,  though,  Wrild  Water,  we 
did  n't  know  about  those  other  eggs  until  afterward. 
Then  we  had  to  buy  them  in  order  to  make  our  corner 
good." 

For  five  long  minutes,  in  choking  silence,  Wild 
Water  fought  a  battle  with  himself,  then  reluctantly 
gave  in. 

"  I  'm  in  bad,"  he  said  brokenly.  "  The  landscape  's 
fair  sproutin'  eggs.  An'  the  quicker  I  get  out  the  bet 
ter.  There  might  come  a  landslide  of  'em.  I  '11  be 
there  at  two  o'clock.  But  forty  thousand  dollars !  " 

"  It 's  only  thirty-nine  thousand  six  hundred  an' 
twenty,"  Smoke  corrected.  "  It  '11  weigh  two  hun 
dred  pounds,"  Wild  Water  raved  on.  "  I  '11  have  to 
freight  it  up  with  a  dog-team." 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  281 

"  We  '11  lend  you  our  teams  to  carry  the  eggs  away," 
Smoke  volunteered. 

"But  where '11  I  cache  'em?  Never  mind.  I'll 
be  there.  But  as  long  as  I  live  I  '11  never  eat  another 
egg.  I  'm  full  sick  of  'em." 

At  half-past  one,  doubling  the  dog-teams  for  the 
steep  pitch  of  the  hill,  Shorty  arrived  with  Gauter- 
eaux's  eggs.  "  We  dang  near  double  our  winnings," 
Shorty  told  Smoke,  as  they  piled  the  soap-boxes  inside 
the  cabin.  "  I  holds  'm  down  to  eight  dollars,  an' 
after  he  cussed  loco  in  French  he  falls  for  it.  Now 
that 's  two  dollars  clear  profit  to  us  for  each  egg,  an' 
they  're  three  thousan'  of  'em.  I  paid  'm  in  full. 
Here  's  the  receipt." 

While  Smoke  got  out  the  gold-scales  and  prepared 
for  business,  Shorty  devoted  himself  to  calculation. 

"  There  's  the  riggers,"  he  announced  triumphantly. 
"  We  win  twelve  thousan'  nine  hundred  an'  seventy 
dollars.  An'  we  don't  do  Wild  Water  no  harm.  He 
wins  Miss  Arral.  Besides,  he  gets  all  them  eggs.  It 's 
sure  a  bargain-counter  all  around.  Nobody  loses." 

"  Even  Gautereaux  's  twenty-four  thousand  to  the 
good,"  Smoke  laughed,  "  minus,  of  course,  what  the 
eggs  and  the  freighting  cost  him.  And  if  Wild  Water 
plays  the  corner,  he  may  make  a  profit  out  of  the  eggs 
himself." 

Promptly  at  two  o'clock,  Shorty,  peeping,  saw  Wild 
Water  coming  up  the  hill.  When  he  entered  he  was 
bris1'  and  businesslike.  He  took  off  his  big  bearskin 
coat,  hung  it  on  a  nail,  and  sat  down  at  the  table. 

"  Bring  on  them  eggs,  you  pirates,"  he  commenced. 


282  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  An'  after  this  day,  if  you  know  what 's  good  for 
you,  never  mention  eggs  to  me  again.'' 

They  began  on  the  miscellaneous  assortment  of  the 
original  corner,  all  three  men  counting.  When  two 
hundred  had  been  reached,  Wild  Water  suddenly 
cracked  an  egg  on  the  edge  of  the  table  and  opened  it 
deftly  with  his  thumbs. 

"  Hey !     Hold  on !  "  Shorty  objected. 

"It's  my  egg,  ain't  it?"  Wild  Water  snarled. 
"  I  'm  paying  ten  dollars  for  it,  ain't  I  ?  But  I  ain't 
buying  no  pig  in  a  poke.  When  I  cough  up  ten  bucks 
an  egg  I  want  to  know  what  I  'm  gettin'." 

"  If  you  don't  like  it,  I  '11  eat  it,"  Shorty  volunteered 
maliciously. 

Wild  Water  looked  and  smelled  and  shook  his  head. 
"  No,  you  don't,  Shorty.  That 's  a  good  egg. 
Gimme  a  pail.  I  'm  goin'  to  eat  it  myself  for 
supper." 

Thrice  again  Wild  Water  cracked  good  eggs  ex 
perimentally  and  put  them  in  the  pail  beside  him. 

"  Two  more  than  you  figgered,  Shorty,"  he  said  at 
the  end  of  the  count.  "  Nine  hundred  an'  sixty-four, 
not  sixty-two." 

"  My  mistake,"  Shorty  acknowledged  handsomely. 
"  We  '11  throw  'em  in  for  good  measure." 

"  Guess  you  can  afford  to,"  Wild  Water  accepted 
grimly.  "  Pass  the  batch.  Nine  thousan'  six  hun 
dred  an'  twenty  dollars.  I  '11  pay  for  it  now.  Write 
a  receipt,  Smoke." 

"  Why  not  count  the  rest,"  Smoke  suggested,  "  and 
pay  all  at  once?  " 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  283 

Wild  Water  shook  his  head.  "  I  'm  no  good  at 
figgers.  One  batch  at  a  time  an'  no  mistakes." 

Going  to  his  fur  coat,  from  each  of  the  side  pockets 
he  drew  forth  two  sacks  of  dust,  so  rotund  and  long 
that  they  resembled  bologna  sausages.  When  the  first 
batch  had  been  paid  for,  there  remained  in  the  gold- 
sacks  not  more  than  several  hundred  dollars. 

A  soap-box  was  carried  to  the  table,  and  the  count 
of  the  three  thousand  began.  At  the  end  of  one  hun 
dred,  Wild  Water  struck  an  egg  sharply  against  the 
edge  of  the  table.  There  was  no  crack.  The  result 
ant  sound  was  like  that  of  the  striking  of  a  sphere  of 
solid  marble. 

"  Frozen  solid,"  he  remarked,  striking  more  sharply. 

He  held  the  egg  up,  and  they  could  see  the  shell 
powdered  to  minute  fragments  along  the  line  of  im 
pact. 

"  Huh !  "  said  Shorty.  "  It  ought  to  be  solid,  seein' 
it  has  just  been  freighted  up  from  Forty  Mile.  It  '11 
take  an  ax  to  bust  it." 

"  Me  for  the  ax,"  said  Wild  Water. 

Smoke  brought  the  ax,  and  Wild  Water,  with  the 
clever  hand  and  eye  of  the  woodsman,  split  the  egg 
cleanly  in  half.  The  appearance  of  the  egg's  interior 
was  anything  but  satisfactory.  Smoke  felt  a  premon 
itory  chill.  Shorty  was  more  valiant.  He  held  one 
of  the  halves  to  his  nose. 

"  Smells  all  right,"  he  said. 

"  But  it  looks  all  wrong,"  Wild  Water  contended. 
"  An'  how  can  it  smell  when  the  smell 's  frozen  along 
with  the  rest  of  it?  Wait  a  minute." 


284  SMOKE  BELLEW 

He  put  the  two  halves  into  a  frying-pan  and  placed 
the  latter  on  the  front  lid  of  the  hot  stove.  Then  the 
three  men,  with  distended,  questing  nostrils,  waited  in 
silence.  Slowly  an  unmistakable  odor  began  to  drift 
through  the  room.  Wild  Water  forbore  to  speak,  and 
Shorty  remained  dumb  despite  conviction. 

'''  Throw  it  out,"  Smoke  cried,  gasping. 

"  What 's  the  good?  "  asked  Wild  Water.  "  We  Ve 
got  to  sample  the  rest." 

"  Not  in  this  cabin."  Smoke  coughed  and  con 
quered  a  qualm.  "  Chop  them  open,  and  we  can  test 
by  looking  at  them.  Throw  it  out,  Shorty  —  Throw 
it  out !  Phew !  And  leave  the  door  open !  " 

Box  after  box  was  opened;  egg  after  egg,  chosen 
at  random,  was  chopped  in  two ;  and  every  egg  carried 
the  same  message  of  hopeless,  irremediable  decay. 

"  I  won't  ask  you  to  eat  'em,  Shorty,"  Wild  Water 
jeered,  "  an',  if  you  don't  mind,  I  can't  get  outa  here 
too  quick.  My  contract  called  for  good  eggs.  If 
you  '11  loan  me  a  sled  an'  team  I  '11  haul  them  good 
ones  away  before  they  get  contaminated." 

Smoke  helped  in  loading  the  sled.  Shorty  sat  at 
the  table,  the  cards  laid  before  him  for  solitaire. 

"  Say,  how  long  you  been  holdin'  that  corner  ?  "  was 
Wild  Water's  parting  gibe. 

Smoke  made  no  reply,  and,  with  one  glance  at  his 
absorbed  partner,  proceeded  to  fling  the  soap  boxes 
out  into  the  snow. 

"  Say,  Shorty,  how  much  did  you  say  you  paid  for 
that  three  thousand?  "  Smoke  queried  gently. 

"  Eight  dollars.     Go  'way.     Don't  talk  to  me.     I 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  285 

can  figger  as  well  as  you.  We  lose  seventeen  thou- 
san'  on  the  flutter,  if  anybody  should  ride  up  on  a 
dog-sled  an'  ask  you.  I  figgered  that  out  while  waitin' 
for  the  first  egg  to  smell." 

Smoke  pondered  a  few  minutes,  then  again  broke 
silence.  "  Say,  Shorty.  Forty  thousand  dollars  gold 
weighs  two  hundred  pounds.  Wild  Water  borrowed 
our  sled  and  team  to  haul  away  his  eggs.  He  came 
up  the  hill  without  a  sled.  Those  two  sacks  of  dust 
in  his  coat  pockets  weighed  about  twenty  pounds  each. 
The  understanding  was  cash  on  delivery.  He  brought 
enough  dust  to  pay  for  the  good  eggs.  He  never  ex 
pected  to  pay  for  those  three  thousand.  He  knew  they 
were  bad.  Now  how  did  he  know  they  were  bad? 
What  do  you  make  of  it,  anyway?  " 

Shorty  gathered  the  cards,  started  to  shuffle  a  new 
deal,  then  paused.  "  Huh !  That  ain't  nothin'.  A 
child  could  answer  it.  We  lose  seventeen  thousan'. 
Wild  Water  wins  seventeen  thousan'.  Them  eggs  of 
Gautereaux's  was  Wild  Water's  all  the  time.  Any 
thing  else  you  're  curious  to  know?  " 

"  Yes.  Why  in  the  name  of  common  sense  did  n't 
you  find  out  whether  those  eggs  were  good  before  you 
paid  for  them?  " 

"  Just  as  easy  as  the  first  question.  Wild  Water 
swung  the  bunco  game  timed  to  seconds.  I  had  n't 
no  time  to  examine  them  eggs.  I  had  to  hustle  to  get 
'em  here  for  delivery.  An'  now,  Smoke,  lemme 
ask  you  one  civil  question.  What  did  you  say  was  the 
party's  name  that  put  this  egg  corner  idea  into  your 
head?" 


286  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Shorty  had  lost  the  sixteenth  consecutive  game  of 
solitaire,  and  Smoke  was  casting  about  to  begin  the 
preparation  of  supper,  when  Colonel  Bowie  knocked 
at  the  door,  handed  Smoke  a  letter,  and  went  on  to 
his  own  cabin. 

"  Did  you  see  his  face?"  Shorty  raved.  "  He  was 
almost  bustin'  to  keep  it  straight.  It 's  the  big  ha !  ha ! 
for  you  an'  me,  Smoke.  We  won't  never  dast  show 
our  faces  again  in  Dawson." 

The  letter  was  from  Wild  Water,  and  Smoke  read 
it  aloud : 

Dear  Sm'oke  and  Shorty:  I  write  to  ask,  with  compliments 
of  the  season,  your  presence  at  a  supper  to-night  at  Slavovitch's 
joint.  Miss  Arral  will  be  there  and  so  will  Gautereaux.  Him  and 
me  was  pardners  down  at  Circle  five  years  ago.  He  is  all  right 
and  is  going  to  be  best  man.  About  them  eggs.  They  come 
into  the  country  four  years  back.  They  was  bad  when  they 
come  in.  They  was  bad  when  they  left  California.  They  al 
ways  was  bad.  They  stopped  at  Carluk  one  winter,  and  one 
winter  at  Nutlik,  and  last  winter  at  Forty  Mile,  where  they  was 
sold  for  storage.  And  this  winter  I  guess  they  stop  at  Dawson. 
Don't  keep  them  in  a  hot  room.  Lucille  says  to  say  you  and  her 
and  me  has  sure  made  some  excitement  for  Dawson.  And  I 
say  the  drinks  is  on  you,  and  that  goes. 

Respectfully  your  friend, 

W.  W. 

"Well?  What  have  you  got  to  say?"  Smoke 
queried.  "We  accept  the  invitation,  of  course?" 

"  I  got  one  thing  to  say,"  Shorty  answered.  "  An* 
that  is  Wild  Water  won't  never  suffer  if  he  goes  broke. 
He  's  a  good  actor  —  a  gosh-blamed  good  actor.  An* 
I  got  another  thing  to  say:  my  riggers  is  all  wrong. 
Wild  Water  wins  seventeen  thousan'  all  right,  but  he 


A  FLUTTER  IN  EGGS  287 

wins  more  'n  that.  You  air  me  has  made  him  a  pres 
ent  of  every  good  egg  in  the  Klondike  —  nine  hun 
dred  an'  sixty- four  of  'em,  two  thrown  in  for  good 
measure.  An'  he  was  that  ornery,  mean  cussed  that 
he  packed  off  the  three  opened  ones  in  the  pail.  An' 
I  got  a  last  thing  to  say.  You  an'  me  is  legitimate 
prospectors  an'  practical  gold-miners.  But  when  it 
comes  to  fi-nance  we  're  sure  the  fattest  suckers  that 
ever  fell  for  the  get-rich-quick  bunco.  After  this  it 's 
you  an'  me  for  the  high  rocks  an'  tall  timber,  an'  if 
you  ever  mention  eggs  to  me  we  dissolve  pardnership 
there  an'  then.  Get  me?" 


XI 

THE   TOWN-SITE   OF   TRA-LEE 

QMOKE  and  Shorty  encountered  each  other,  going 
^  in  opposite  directions,  at  the  corner  where  stood 
the  Elkhorn  saloon.  The  former's  face  wore  a 
pleased  expression,  and  he  was  walking  briskly. 
Shorty,  on  the  other  hand,  was  slouching  along  in  a 
depressed  and  indeterminate  fashion. 

"Whither  away?"  Smoke  challenged  gaily. 

"  Danged  if  I  know,"  came  the  disconsolate  answer. 
"  Wisht  I  did.  They  ain't  nothin'  to  take  me  any 
wheres.  I  've  set  two  hours  in  the  deadest  game  of 
draw  —  nothing  excitin',  no  hands,  an'  broke  even. 
Played  a  rubber  of  cribbage  with  Skiff  Mitchell  for 
the  drinks,  an'  now  I  'm  that  languid  for  somethin' 
doin'  that  I  'm  perambulatin'  the  streets  on  the  chance 
of  seein'  a  dogfight,  or  a  argument,  or  somethin'." 

"  I  've  got  something  better  on  hand,"  Smoke  an 
swered.  "  That 's  why  I  was  looking  for  you.  Come 
on  along." 

"Now?" 

"  Sure." 

"Whereto?" 

"  Across  the  river  to  make  a  call  on  old  Dwight 
Sanderson." 

"  Never  heard   of    him,"    Shorty   said   dejectedly. 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE         289 

"  An'  never  heard  of  no  one  living  across  the  river 
anyway.  What 's  he  want  to  live  there  for  ?  Ain't 
he  got  no  sense?  " 

"  He  's  got  something  to  sell,"  Smoke  laughed. 

"  Dogs  ?  A  gold-mine  ?  Tobacco  ?  Rubber 
boots?" 

Smoke  shook  his  head  to  each  question.  "  Come 
along  on  and  find  out,  because  I  'm  going  to  buy  it 
from  him  on  a  spec,  and  if  you  want  you  can  come 
in  half." 

"Don't  tell  me  it's  eggs!"  Shorty  cried,  his  face 
twisted  into  an  expression  of  facetious  and  sarcastic 
alarm. 

"  Come  on  along,"  Smoke  told  him.  "  And  I  '11 
give  you  ten  guesses  while  we  're  crossing  the  ice." 

They  dipped  down  the  high  bank  at  the  foot  of  the 
street  and  came  out  upon  the  ice-covered  Yukon. 
Three-quarters  of  a  mile  away,  directly  opposite,  the 
other  bank  of  the  stream  uprose  in  precipitous  bluffs 
hundreds  of  feet  in  height.  Toward  these  bluffs, 
winding  and  twisting  in  and  out  among  broken  and 
upthrown  blocks  of  ice,  ran  a  slightly  traveled  trail. 
Shorty  trudged  at  Smoke's  heels,  beguiling  the  time 
with  guesses  at  what  Dwight  Sanderson  had  to  sell. 

"Reindeer?  Copper-mine  or  brick-yard?  That's 
one  guess.  Bear-skins,  or  any  kind  of  skins?  Lot 
tery  tickets  ?  A  potato-ranch  ?  " 

"  Getting  near  it,"  Smoke  encouraged.  "  And  bet 
ter  than  that." 

'  Two  potato-ranches?     A  cheese-factory?  A  moss- 
farm?" 


29o  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  That 's  not  so  bad,  Shorty.  It 's  not  a  thousand 
miles  away." 

"A  quarry?" 

"  That 's  as  near  as  the  moss- farm  and  the  potato- 
ranch." 

"  Hold  on.  Let  me  think.  I  got  one  guess  comin'." 
Ten  silent  minutes  passed.  "  Say,  Smoke,  I  ain't 
goin'  to  use  that  last  guess.  When  this  thing  you  're 
buyin'  sounds  like  a  potato-ranch,  a  moss-farm,  an' 
a  stone-quarry,  I  quit.  An'  I  don't  go  in  on  the  deal 
till  I  see  it  an'  size  it  up.  What  is  it?  " 

"  Well,  you  '11  see  the  cards  on  the  table  soon 
enough.  Kindly  cast  your  eyes  up  there.  Do  you 
see  the  smoke  from  that  cabin  ?  That 's  where  Dwight 
Sanderson  lives.  He 's  holding  down  a  town-site 
location." 

"  What  else  is  he  holdin'  down?  " 

"  That 's  all,"  Smoke  laughed.  "  Except  rheuma 
tism.  I  hear  he  's  been  suffering  from  it." 

"Say!"  Shorty's  hand  flashed  out  and  with  an 
abrupt  shoulder  grip  brought  his  comrade  to  a  halt. 
"  You  ain't  telling  me  you  're  buyin'  a  town-site  at 
this  fallin'-off  place?" 

"  That 's  your  tenth  guess,  and  you  win.  Come 
on." 

"  But  wait  a  moment,"  Shorty  pleaded.  "  Look  at 
it  —  nothin'  but  bluffs  an'  slides,  all  up-and-down. 
Where  could  the  town  stand?  " 

"  Search  me." 

"  Then  you  ain't  buyin'  it  for  a  town  ?  " 

"  But  Dwight  Sanderson  's  selling  it  for  a  town," 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        291 

Smoke  baffled.  "  Come  on.  We  've  got  to  climb  this 
slide." 

The  slide  was  steep,  and  a  narrow  trail  zigzagged 
up  it  on  a  formidable  Jacob's  ladder.  Shorty  moaned 
and  groaned  over  the  sharp  corners  and  the  steep 
pitches. 

"  Think  of  a  town-site  here.  They  ain't  a  flat 
space  big  enough  for  a  postage-stamp.  An'  it 's  the 
wrong  side  of  the  river.  All  the  freightin'  goes  the 
other  way.  Look  at  Dawson  there.  Room  to  spread 
for  forty  thousand  more  people.  Say,  Smoke.  You  Jre 
a  meat-eater.  I  know  that.  An'  I  know  you  ain't 
buyin'  it  for  a  town.  Then  what  in  Heaven's  name 
are  you  buyin'  it  for?" 

"  To  sell,  of  course." 

"  But  other  folks  ain't  as  crazy  as  old  man  Sander 
son  an'  you." 

"  Maybe  not  in  the  same  way,  Shorty.  Now  I  'm 
going  to  take  this  town-site,  break  it  up  in  parcels, 
and  sell  it  to  a  lot  of  sane  people  wrho  live  over  in 
Dawson." 

"  Huh !  All  Dawson  's  still  laughing  at  you  an'  me 
an'  them  eggs.  You  want  to  make  'em  laugh  some 
more,  hey?  " 

"  I  certainly  do." 

"  But  it 's  too  danged  expensive,  Smoke.  I  helped 
you  make  'em  laugh  on  the  eggs,  an'  my  share  of  the 
laugh  cost  me  nearly  nine  thousan'  dollars." 

"  All  right.  You  don't  have  to  come  in  on  this. 
The  profits  will  be  all  mine,  but  you  've  got  to  help 
me  just  the  same." 


292  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Oh,  I  '11  help  all  right.  An'  they  can  laugh  at  me 
some  more.  But  nary  a  ounce  do  I  drop  this  time. 

"  What 's  old  Sanderson  holdin'  it  at?  A  couple  of 
hundred?" 

"  Ten  thousand.     I  ought  to  get  it  for  five." 

"  Wisht  I  was  a  minister,"  Shorty  breathed  fer 
vently. 

"What  for?" 

"  So  I  could  preach  the  gosh-dangdest,  eloquentest 
sermon  on  a  text  you  may  have  hearn  —  to  wit:  a 
fool  an'  his  money." 

"  Come  in,"  they  heard  Dwight  Sanderson  yell  ir 
ritably,  when  they  knocked  at  his  door,  and  they  en 
tered  to  find  him  squatted  by  a  stone  fireplace  and 
pounding  coffee  wrapped  in  a  piece  of  flour-sacking. 

"  What  d'  ye  want?  "  he  demanded  harshly,  empty 
ing  the  pounded  coffee  into  the  coffee-pot  that  stood 
on  the  coals  near  the  front  of  the  fireplace. 

"  To  talk  business,"  Smoke  answered.  "  You  've 
a  town-site  located  here,  I  understand.  What  do  you 
want  for  it?" 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars,"  came  the  answer.  "  And 
now  that  I  've  told  you,  you  can  laugh,  and  get  out. 
There  's  the  door.  Good-by." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  laugh.  I  know  plenty  of  fun 
nier  things  to  do  than  to  climb  up  this  cliff  of  yours. 
I  want  to  buy  your  town-site." 

"You  do,  eh?  Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  sense." 
Sanderson  came  over  and  sat  down  facing  his  visitors, 
his  hands  resting  on  the  table  and  his  eyes  cocking 
apprehensively  toward  the  coffee-pot.  "  I  've  told  you 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        293 

my  price,  and  I  ain't  ashamed  to  tell  you  again  —  ten 
thousand.     And  you  can  laugh  or  buy,  it 's  all  one  to 


me." 


To  show  his  indifference  he  drummed  with  his 
knobby  knuckles  on  the  table  and  stared  at  the  coffee 
pot.  A  minute  later  he  began  to  hum  a  monotonous, 
"  Tra-la-loo,  tra-la-lee,  tra-la-lee,  tra-la-loo." 

"  Now  look  here,  Mr.  Sanderson,"  said  Smoke. 
"  This  town-site  is  n't  worth  ten  thousand.  If  it  was 
worth  that  much  it  would  be  worth  a  hundred  thou 
sand  just  as  easily.  If  it  is  n't  worth  a  hundred  thou 
sand  —  and  you  know  it  is  n't  —  then  it  is  n't  worth 
ten  cents." 

Sanderson  drummed  with  his  knuckles  and  hummed, 
"Tra-la-loo,  tra-la-lee,"  until  the  coffee-pot  boiled 
over.  Settling  it  with  a  part  cup  of  cold  water,  and 
placing  it  to  one  side  of  the  warm  hearth,  he  resumed 
his  seat.  "  How  much  will  you  offer?  "  he  asked  of 
Smoke. 

"  Five  thousand." 

Shorty  groaned. 

Again  came  an  interval  of  drumming  and  of  tra- 
loo-ing  and  tra-lee-ing. 

*  You  ain't  no  fool,"  Sanderson  announced  to 
Smoke.  "  You  said  if  it  was  n't  worth  a  hundred 
thousand  it  wasn't  worth  ten  cents.  Yet  you  offer 
five  thousand  for  it.  Then  it  is  worth  a  hundred 
thousand." 

'*  You  can't  make  twenty  cents  out  of  it,"  Smoke 
replied  heatedly.  "  Not  if  you  stayed  here  till  you 
rot." 


294  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  I  '11  make  it  out  of  you." 

"  No,  you  won't.  " 

"  Then  I  reckon  I  '11  stay  an'  rot,"  Sanderson  an 
swered  with  an  air  of  finality. 

He  took  no  further  notice  of  his  guests,  and  went 
about  his  culinary  tasks  as  if  he  were  alone.  When 
he  had  warmed  over  a  pot  of  beans  and  a  slab  of  sour 
dough  bread,  he  set  the  table  for  one  and  proceeded 
to  eat. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  Shorty  murmured.  "  We  ain't 
a  bit  hungry.  We  et  just  before  we  come." 

"  Let 's  see  your  papers,"  Smoke  said  at  last.  San 
derson  fumbled  under  the  head  of  his  bunk  and  tossed 
out  a  package  of  documents.  "It 's  all  tight  and 
right,"  he  said.  "  That  long  one  there,  with  the  big 
seals,  come  all  the  way  from  Ottawa.  Nothing  terri 
torial  about  that.  The  national  Canadian  govern 
ment  cinches  me  in  the  possession  of  this  town-site." 

"  How  many  lots  you  sold  in  the  two  years  you  've 
had  it?  "  Shorty  queried. 

"  None  of  your  business,"  Sanderson  answered 
sourly.  "  There  ain't  no  law  against  a  man  living 
alone  on  his  town-site  if  he  wants  to." 

"  I  '11  give  you  five  thousand,"  Smoke  said.  San 
derson  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  know  which  is  the  craziest,"  Shorty  la 
mented.  "  Come  outside  a  minute,  Smoke.  I  want 
to  whisper  to  you." 

Reluctantly  Smoke  yielded  to  his  partner's  persua 
sions. 

"  Ain't  it  never  entered  your  head,"  Shorty  said,  as 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        295 

they  stood  in  the  snow  outside  the  door,  "  that  they  's 
miles  an'  miles  of  cliffs  on  both  sides  this  fool  town- 
site  that  don't  belong  to  nobody  an'  that  you  can  have 
for  the  locatin'  and  stakin'  ?  " 

"  They  \von't  do,"  Smoke  answered. 

"Why  won't  they?" 

"  It  makes  you  wonder,  with  all  those  miles  and 
miles,  why  I  'm  buying  this  particular  spot,  does  n't 
it?" 

"  It  sure  does,"  Shorty  agreed. 

"  And  that 's  the  very  point,"  Smoke  went  on  tri 
umphantly.  "If  it  makes  you  wonder,  it  will  make 
others  wonder.  And  when  they  wonder  they  '11  come 
a-running.  By  your  own  wondering  you  prove  it 's 
sound  psychology.  Now,  Shorty,  listen  to  me ;  I  'm 
going  to  hand  Dawson  a  package  that  will  knock  the 
spots  out  of  the  egg-laugh.  Come  on  inside." 

"  Hello,"  said  Sanderson,  as  they  re-entered.  "  I 
thought  I  'd  seen  the  last  of  you." 

"  Now  what  is  your  lowest  figure  ?  "  Smoke  asked. 

"  Twenty  thousand." 
_^_I  '11  give  you  ten  thousand." 

"  All  right,  I  '11  sell  at  that  figure.  It 's  all  I  wanted 
in  the  first  place.  But  when  will  you  pay  the  dust 
over?" 

"  To-morrow,  at  the  Northwest  Bank.  But  there 
are  two  other  things  I  want  for  that  ten  thousand. 
In  the  first  place,  when  you  receive  your  money  you 
pull  down  the  river  to  Forty  Mile  and  stay  there  the 
rest  of  the  winter." 

"That's  easy.     What  else?" 


296  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  I  'm  going  to  pay  you  twenty-five  thousand,  and 
you  rebate  me  fifteen  of  it.  " 

"  I  'm  agreeable."  Sanderson  turned  to  Shorty. 
"  Folks  said  I  was  a  fool  when  I  come  over  here  an' 
town-sited,"  he  jeered.  "  Well,  I  'm  a  ten  thousand 
dollar  fool,  ain't  I?" 

"  The  Klondike  's  sure  full  of  fools,"  was  all  Shorty 
could  retort,  "  an'  when  they  's  so  many  of  'em  some 
has  to  be  lucky,  don't  they?  " 

Next  morning  the  legal  transfer  of  Dwight  Sander 
son's  town-site  was  made  —  "  henceforth  to  be  known 
as  the  town-site  of  Tra-Lee,"  Smoke  incorporated  in 
the  deed.  Also,  at  the  Northwest  Bank,  twenty- 
five  thousand  of  Smoke's  gold  was  weighed  out  by  the 
cashier,  while  half  a  dozen  casual  onlookers  noted  the 
weighing,  the  amount,  and  the  recipient. 

In  a  mining-camp  all  men  are  suspicious.  Any  un 
toward  act  of  any  man  is  likely  to  be  the  cue  to  a  se 
cret  gold  strike,  whether  the  untoward  act  be  no  more 
than  a  hunting  trip  for  moose  or  a  stroll  after  dark 
to  observe  the  aurora  borealis.  And  when  it  became 
known  that  so  prominent  a  figure  as  Smoke  Bellew 
had  paid  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  to  old  Dwight 
Sanderson,  Dawson  wanted  to  know  what  he  had  paid 
it  for.  What  had  Dwight  Sanderson,  starving  on  his 
abandoned  town-site,  ever  owned  that  was  worth 
twenty-five  thousand?  In  lieu  of  an  answer,  Dawson 
was  justified  in  keeping  Smoke  in  feverish  contempla 
tion. 

By  mid-afternoon  it  was  common  knowledge  that 
several  score  of  men  had  made  up  light  stampeding- 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        297 

packs  and  cached  them  in  the  convenient  saloons  along 
Main  Street.  Wherever  Smoke  moved,  he  was  the 
observed  of  many  eyes.  And  as  proof  that  he  was 
taken  seriously,  not  one  man  of  the  many  of  his  ac 
quaintance  had  the  effrontery  to  ask  him  about  his 
deal  with  Dwight  Sanderson.  On  the  other  hand,  no 
one  mentioned  eggs  to  Smoke.  Shorty  was  under 
similar  surveillance  and  delicacy  of  friendliness. 

"  Makes  me  feel  like  I  'd  killed  somebody,  or  had 
smallpox,  the  wray  they  watch  me  an'  seem  afraid  to 
speak,"  Shorty  confessed,  when  he  chanced  to  meet 
Smoke  in  front  of  the  Elkhorn.  "  Look  at  Bill  Salt- 
man  there  acrost  the  way  —  just  dyin'  to  look,  an' 
keepin'  his  eyes  down  the  street  all  the  time.  Would  n't 
think  he  'd  knowed  you  an'  me  existed,  to  look  at 
him.  But  I  bet  you  the  drinks,  Smoke,  if  you  an'  me 
flop  around  the  corner  quick,  like  \ve  was  goin'  some- 
wheres,  an'  then  turn  back  from  around  the  next 
corner,  that  we  run  into  him  a-hikin'  hell-bent." 

They  tried  the  trick,  and,  doubling  back  around  the 
second  corner,  encountered  Saltman  swinging  a  long 
trail-stride  in  pursuit. 

"Hello,  Bill,"  Smoke  greeted.     "Which  way?" 

"  Hello.  Just  a-strollin', "  Saltman  answered, 
"  just  a-strollin'.  Weather  's  fine,  ain't  it?  " 

"  Huh !  "  Shorty  jeered.  "  If  you  call  that  strollin', 
what  might  you  walk  real  fast  at?" 

When  Shorty  fed  the  dogs  that  evening,  he  was 
keenly  conscious  that  from  the  encircling  darkness  a 
dozen  pairs  of  eyes  were  boring  in  upon  him.  And 
when  he  stick-tied  the  dogs,  instead  of  letting  them 


298  SMOKE  BELLEW 

forage  free  through  the  night,  he  knew  that  he  had  ad 
ministered  another  jolt  to  the  nervousness  of  Daw- 
son. 

According  to  program,  Smoke  ate  supper  down 
town  and  then  proceeded  to  enjoy  himself.  Wherever 
he  appeared,  he  was  the  center  of  interest,  and  he 
purposely  made  the  rounds.  Saloons  filled  up  after 
his  entrance  and  emptied  following  upon  his  depar 
ture.  If  he  bought  a  stack  of  chips  at  a  sleepy  rou 
lette-table,  inside  five  minutes  a  dozen  players  were 
around  him.  He  avenged  himself,  in  a  small  way, 
on  Lucille  Arral,  by  getting  up  and  sauntering  out  of 
the  Opera  House  just  as  she  came  on  to  sing  her  most 
popular  song.  In  three  minutes  two-thirds  of  her  au 
dience  had  vanished  after  him. 

At  one  in  the  morning  he  walked  along  an  unus 
ually  populous  Main  Street  and  took  the  turning  that 
led  up  the  hill  to  his  cabin.  And  when  he  paused  on 
the  ascent,  he  could  hear  behind  him  the  crunch  of 
moccasins  in  the  snow. 

For  an  hour  the  cabin  was  in  darkness,  then  he 
lighted  a  candle,  and,  after  a  delay  sufficient  for  a 
man  to  dress  in,  he  and  Shorty  opened  the  door  and 
began  harnessing  the  dogs.  As  the  light  from  the 
cabin  flared  out  upon  them  and  their  work,  a  soft 
whistle  went  up  from  not  far  away.  This  whistle 
was  repeated  down  the  hill. 

"  Listen  to  it,"  Smoke  chuckled.  "  They  Ve  relayed 
on  us  and  are  passing  the  word  down  to  town.  I  '11 
bet  you  there  are  forty  men  right  now  rolling  out  of 
their  blankets  and  climbing  into  their  pants." 


THE  TOWX-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        299 

"  Ain't  folks  fools,"  Shorty  giggled  back.  "  Say, 
Smoke,  they  ain't  nothin'  in  hard  graft.  A  geezer 
that  'd  work  his  hands  these  days  is  a  —  well,  a  geezer. 
The  world  's  sure  bustin'  full  an'  dribblin'  over  the 
edges  with  fools  a-honin'  to  be  separated  from  their 
dust.  An'  before  we  start  down  the  hill  I  want  to  an 
nounce,  if  you  're  still  agreeable,  that  I  come  in  half 
on  this  deal." 

The  sled  was  lightly  loaded  with  a  sleeping-  and  a 
grub-outfit.  A  small  coil  of  steel  cable  protruded  in 
conspicuously  from  underneath  a  grub-sack,  while  a 
crowbar  lay  half  hidden  along  the  bottom  of  the  sled 
next  to  the  lashings. 

Shorty  fondled  the  cable  with  a  swift-passing  mit 
ten,  and  gave  a  last  affectionate  touch  to  the  crowbar. 
"  Huh!  "  he  whispered.  "  I  'd  sure  do  some  tall  think 
ing  myself  if  I  seen  them  objects  on  a  sled  on  a  dark 
night." 

They  drove  the  dogs  dow-n  the  hill  with  cautious 
silence,  and  when,  emerged  on  the  flat,  they  turned 
the  team  north  along  Main  Street  toward  the  sawmill 
and  directly  away  from  the  business  part  of  town, 
they  observed  even  greater  caution.  They  had  seen 
no  one,  yet  when  this  change  of  direction  was  initi 
ated,  out  of  the  dim  starlit  darkness  behind  arose  a 
whistle.  Past  the  sawmill  and  the  hospital,  at  lively 
speed,  they  went  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  Then  they 
turned  about  and  headed  back  over  the  ground  they 
had  just  covered.  At  the  end  of  the  first  hundred 
yards  they  barely  missed  colliding  with  five  men  rac 
ing  along  at  a  quick  dog-trot.  All  were  slightly 


300  SMOKE  BELLEW 

stooped  to  the  weight  of  stampeding-packs.  One  of 
them  stopped  Smoke's  lead-dog,  and  the  rest  clustered 
around. 

"  Seen  a  sled  goin'  the  other  way?  "  was  asked. 

"Nope,"  Smoke  answered.     "Is  that  you,  Bill?" 

"Well,  I'll  be  danged!"  Bill  Saltman  ejaculated 
in  honest  surprise.  "  If  it  ain't  Smoke!  " 

''  What  are  you  doing  out  this  time  of  night?" 
Smoke  inquired.  "Strolling?" 

Before  Bill  Saltman  could  make  reply,  two  running 
men  joined  the  group.*  These  were  followed  by  sev 
eral  more,  while  the  crunch  of  feet  on  the  snow 
heralded  the  imminent  arrival  of  many  others. 

"Who  are  your  friends?"  Smoke  asked. 
"Where's  the  stampede?" 

Saltman,  lighting  his  pipe,  which  was  impossible  for 
him  to  enjoy  with  lungs  panting  from  the  run,  did  not 
reply.  The  ruse  of  the  match  was  too  obviously  for 
the  purpose  of  seeing  the  sled  to  be  misunderstood, 
and  Smoke  noted  every  pair  of  eyes  focus  on  the  coil 
of  cable  and  the  crowbar.  Then  the  match  went  out. 

"  Just  heard  a  rumor,  that 's  all,  just  a  rumor," 
Saltman  mumbled  with  ponderous  secretiveness. 

"  You  might  let  Shorty  and  me  in  on  it,"  Smoke 
urged. 

Somebody  snickered  sarcastically  in  the  back 
ground. 

"Where  are  you  bound?"     Saltman  demanded. 

"  And  who  are  you  ?  "  Smoke  countered.  "  Com 
mittee  of  safety?  " 

"  Just  interested,  just  interested,"  Saltman  said. 


THE  TOWX-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE         301 

"  You  bet  your  sweet  life  we  ?re  interested,"  another 
voice  spoke  up  out  of  the  darkness. 

"  Say,"  Shorty  put  in,  "  I  wonder  who  's  feelin' 
the  foolishest?" 

Everybody  laughed  nervously. 

"  Come  on,  Shorty;  we  '11  be  getting  along,"  Smoke 
said,  mushing  the  dogs. 

The  crowd  formed  in  behind  and  followed. 

"  Say,  ain't  you-all  made  a  mistake?  "  Shorty  gibed. 
"  \Yhen  we  met  you  you  was  goin',  an'  now  you  're 
comin'  without  bein'  anywheres.  Have  you  lost  your 
tag?" 

'  You  go  to  the  devil,"  was  Saltman's  courtesy. 
'*  \Ye  go  and  come  just  as  we  danged  feel  like.  We 
don't  travel  with  tags." 

And  the  sled,  with  Smoke  in  the  lead  and  Shorty 
at  the  pole,  went  on  down  Main  Street  escorted  by 
three  score  men,  each  of  whom,  on  his  back,  bore  a 
stampeding-pack.  It  was  three  in  the  morning,  and 
only  the  all-night  rounders  saw  the  procession  and 
were  able  to  tell  Dawson  about  it  next  day. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  hill  was  climbed  and  the 
dogs  unharnessed  at  the  cabin  door,  the  sixty  stam- 
peders  grimly  attendant. 

"  Good-night,  fellows,"  Smoke  called,  as  he  closed 
the  door. 

In  five  minutes  the  candle  was  put  out,  but  before 
half  an  hour  had  passed  Smoke  and  Shorty  emerged 
.softly,  and  without  lights  began  harnessing  the  dogs. 

"  Hello,  Smoke ! "  Saltman  said,  stepping  near 
enough  for  them  to  see  the  loom  of  his  form. 


302  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Can't  shake  you,  Bill,  I  see,"  Smoke  replied  cheer 
fully.  "  Where  're  your  friends  ?  " 

"  Gone  to  have  a  drink.  They  left  me  to  keep  an 
eye  on  you,  and  keep  it  I  will.  What's  in  the  wind 
anyway,  Smoke?  You  can't  shake  us,  so  you  might 
as  well  let  us  in.  We  're  all  your  friends.  You  know 
that." 

"  There  are  times  when  you  can  let  your  friends 
in,"  Smoke  evaded,  "  and  times  when  you  can't.  And, 
Bill,  this  is  one  of  the  times  when  we  can't.  You  'd 
better  go  to  bed.  Good-night." 

"  Ain't  goin'  to  be  no  good-night,  Smoke.  You 
don't  know  us.  We  're  woodticks." 

Smoke  sighed.  "  Well,  Bill,  if  you  will  have  your 
will,  I  guess  you  '11  have  to  have  it.  Come  on.  Shorty, 
we  can't  fool  around  any  longer." 

Saltman  emitted  a  shrill  whistle  as  the  sled  started, 
and  swung  in  behind.  From  down  the  hill  and  across 
the  fiat  came  the  answering  whistles  of  the  relays. 
Shorty  was  at  the  gee-pole,  and  Smoke  and  Saltman 
walked  side  by  side. 

"  Look  here,  Bill,"  Smoke  said.  "  I  '11  make  you  a 
proposition.  Do  you  want  to  come  in  alone  on 
this?" 

Saltman  did  not  hesitate.  "  An'  throw  the  gang 
down?  No,  sir.  We'll  all  come  in." 

"  You  first,  then,"  Smoke  exclaimed,  lurching  into 
a  clinch  and  tipping  the  other  into  deep  snow  beside 
the  trail. 

Shorty  hawed  tlje  dogs  and  swung  the  team  to  the 
south  on  the  trail  that  led  among  the  scattered  cabins 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        303 

on  the  rolling  slopes  to  the  rear  of  Dawson.  Smoke 
and  Saltman,  locked  together,  rolled  in  the  snow. 
Smoke  considered  himself  in  gilt-edged  condition,  but 
Saltman  outweighed  him  by  fifty  pounds  of  clean, 
trail-hardened  muscle  and  repeatedly  mastered  him. 
Time  and  time  again  he  got  Smoke  on  his  back,  and 
Smoke  lay  complacently  and  rested.  But  each  time 
Saltman  attempted  to  get  off  him  and  get  away,  Smoke 
reached  out  a  detaining,  tripping  hand  that  brought 
about  a  new  clinch  and  wrestle. 

"  You  can  go  some,"  Saltman  acknowledged,  pant 
ing  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes,  as  he  sat  astride  Smoke's 
chest.  "  But  I  down  you  every  time." 

"  And  I  hold  you  every  time,"  Smoke  panted  back. 
"  That 's  what  I  'm  here  for,  just  to  hold  you.  Where 
do  you  think  Shorty's  getting  to  all  this  time?" 

Saltman  made  a  wild  effort  to  go  clear,  and  all  but 
succeeded.  Smoke  gripped  his  ankle  and  threw7  him 
in  a  headlong  tumble.  From  down  the  hill  came  anx 
ious  questioning  whistles.  Saltman  sat  up  and  whis 
tled  a  shrill  answer,  and  was  grappled  by  Smoke,  who 
rolled  him  face  upward  and  sat  astride  his  chest,  his 
knees  resting  on  Saltman's  biceps,  his  hands  on  Salt- 
man's  shoulders  and  holding  him  down.  And  in  this 
position  the  stampeders  found  them.  Smoke  laughed 
and  got  up. 

11  Well,  good-night,  fellows,"  he  said,  and  started 
down  the  hill,  with  sixty  exasperated  and  grimly  de 
termined  stampeders  at  his  heels. 

He  turned  north  past  the  sawmill  and  the  hospital 
and  took  the  river  trail  along  the  precipitous  bluffs  at 


304  SMOKE  BELLEW 

the  base  of  Moosehide  Mountain.  Circling  the  Indian 
village,  he  held  on  to  the  mouth  of  Moose  Creek,  then 
turned  and  faced  his  pursuers. 

"  You  make  me  tired,"  he  said,  with  a  good  imita 
tion  of  a  snarl. 

"  Hope  we  ain't  a-forcin'  you,"  Saltman  murmured 
politely. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  at  all,"  Smoke  snarled  with  an  even 
better  imitation,  as  he  passed  among  them  on  the  back- 
trail  to  Dawson.  Twice  he  attempted  to  cross  the 
trailless  icejams  of  the  river,  still  resolutely  followed, 
and  both  times  he  gave  up  and  returned  to  the  Daw- 
son  shore.  Straight  down  Main  Street  he  trudged, 
crossing  the  ice  of  Klondike  River  to  Klondike  City 
and  again  retracing  to  Dawson.  At  eight  o'clock,  as 
gray  dawn  began  to  show,  he  led  his  weary  gang  to 
Slavovitch's  restaurant,  where  tables  were  at  a  pre 
mium  for  breakfast. 

"  Good-night  fellows,"  he  said,  as  he  paid  his  reck 
oning. 

And  again  he  said  good-night,  as  he  took  the  climb 
of  the  hill.  In  the  clear  light  of  day  they  did  not  fol 
low  him,  contenting  themselves  with  watching  him  up 
the  hill  to  his  cabin. 

For  two  days  Smoke  lingered  about  town,  contin 
ually  under  vigilant  espionage.  Shorty,  with  the  sled 
and  dogs,  had  disappeared.  Neither  travelers  up  and 
down  the  Yukon,  nor  from  Bonanza,  Eldorado,  nor 
the  Klondike,  had  seen  him.  Remained  only  Smoke, 
who,  soon  or  late,  was  certain  to  try  to  connect  with 
his  missing  partner;  and  upon  Smoke  everybody's  at- 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        305 

tention  was  centered.  On  the  second  night  he  did 
not  leave  his  cabin,  putting  out  the  lamp  at  nine  in  the 
evening  and  setting  the  alarm  for  two  next  morning. 
The  watch  outside  heard  the  alarm  go  off,  so  that 
when,  half  an  hour  later,  he  emerged  from  the  cabin, 
he  found  waiting  him  a  band,  not  of  sixty  men,  but 
of  at  least  three  hundred.  A  flaming  aurora  borealis 
lighted  the  scene,  and,  thus  hugely  escorted,  he  walked 
down  to  town  and  entered  the  Elkhorn.  The  place 
was  immediately  packed  and  jammed  by  an  anxious 
and  irritated  multitude  that  bought  drinks,  and  for  four 
weary  hours  watched  Smoke  play  cribbage  with  his 
old  friend  Breck.  Shortly  after  six  in  the  morning, 
with  an  expression  on  his  face  of  commingled  hatred 
and  gloom,  seeing  no  one,  recognizing  no  one,  Smoke 
left  the  Elkhorn  and  went  up  Main  Street,  behind 
him  the  three  hundred,  formed  in  disorderly  ranks, 
chanting:  "  Hay- foot!  Straw-foot!  Hep!  Hep!  Hep!  " 

"  Good-night,  fellows,"  he  said  bitterly,  at  the  edge 
of  the  Yukon  bank  where  the  winter  trail  dipped 
down.  "  I  'm  going  to  get  breakfast  and  then  go  to 
bed." 

The  three  hundred  shouted  that  they  were  with 
him,  and  followed  him  out  upon  the  frozen  river  on 
the  direct  path  he  took  for  Tra-Lee.  At  seven  in  the 
morning  he  led  his  stampeding  cohort  up  the  zigzag 
trail,  across  the  face  of  the  slide,  that  led  to  Dwight 
Sanderson's  cabin.  The  light  of  a  candle  showed 
through  the  parchment-paper  window,  and  smoke 
curled  from  the  chimney.  Shorty  threw  open  the 
door. 


306  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Come  on  in,  Smoke,"  he  greeted.  "  Breakfast 's 
ready.  Who-all  are  your  friends  ?  " 

Smoke  turned  about  on  the  threshold.  "  Well, 
good-night,  you  fellows.  Hope  you  enjoyed  your  pas- 
ear!" 

"  Hold  on  a  moment,  Smoke/'  Bill  Saltman  cried, 
his  voice  keen  with  disappointment.  "  Want  to  talk 
with  you  a  moment." 

"  Fire  away,"  Smoke  answered  genially. 

"  What  'd  you  pay  old  Sanderson  twenty-five 
thousan'  for.  Will  you  answer  that  ?  " 

"  Bill,  you  give  me  a  pain,"  was  Smoke's  reply. 
"  I  came  over  here  for  a  country  residence,  so  to  say, 
and  here  are  you  and  a  gang  trying  to  cross-examine 
me  when  I  'm  looking  for  peace  an'  quietness  an' 
breakfast.  What 's  a  country  residence  good  for,  ex 
cept  for  peace  and  quietness?" 

"  You  ain't  answered  the  question,"  Bill  Saltman 
came  back  with  rigid  logic. 

"  And  I  'm  not  going  to,  Bill.  That  affair  is  pecul 
iarly  a  personal  affair  between  Dwight  Sanderson  and 
me.  Any  other  question?" 

"  How  about  that  crowbar  an'  steel  cable  then, 
what  you  had  on  your  sled  the  other  night?  " 

"  It 's  none  of  your  blessed  and  ruddy  business, 
Bill.  Though  if  Shorty  here  wants  to  tell  you  about 
it,  he  can." 

"  Sure !  "  Shorty  cried,  springing  eagerly  into  the 
breach.  His  mouth  opened,  then  he  faltered  and 
turned  to  his  partner.  "  Smoke,  confidentially,  just 
between  you  an'  me,  I  don't  think  it  is  any  of  their 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        307 

darn  business.    Come  on  in.    The  life  's  gettin'  boiled 
outa  that  coffee." 

The  door  closed  and  the  three  hundred  sagged  into 
forlorn  and  grumbling  groups. 

"  Say,  Saltman,"  one  man  said,  "  I  thought  you 
was  goin'  to  lead  us  to  it." 

"Not  on  your  life,"  Saltman  answered  crustily. 
"  I  said  Smoke  would  lead  us  to  it." 

"An'  this  is  it?" 

"  You  know  as  much  about  it  as  me,  an*  we  all 
know  Smoke 's  got  something  salted  down  some- 
wheres.  Or  else  for  what  did  he  pay  Sanderson  the 
twenty-five  thousand?  Not  for  this  mangy  town- 
site,  that 's  sure  an'  certain." 

A  chorus  of  cries  affirmed  Saltman's  judgment. 

"Well,  what  are  we  goin'  to  do  now?"  some  one 
queried  dolefully. 

"  Me  for  one  for  breakfast,"  Wild  Water  Charley 
said  cheerfully.  "  You  led  us  up  a  blind  alley  this 
time,  Bill." 

"  I  tell  you  I  did  n't,"  Saltman  objected.    "  Smoke^ 
led  us.    An'  just  the  same,  what  about  them  twenty- 
five  thousand  ?  " 

At  half -past  eight,  when  daylight  had  grown 
strong,  Shorty  carefully  opened  the  door  and  peered 
out.  "Shucks,"  he  exclaimed.  "  They-all's  hiked 
back  to  Dawson.  I  thought  they  was  goin'  to  camp 
here." 

"Don't  worry;  they'll  come  sneaking  back," 
Smoke  reassured  him.  "  If  I  don't  miss  my  guess 
you  ?11  see  half  Dawson  over  here  before  we  're  done 


308  SMOKE  BELLEW 

with  it.  Now  jump  in  and  lend  me  a  hand.  We  Ve 
got  work  to  do." 

"  Aw,  for  Heaven's  sake  put  me  on,"  Shorty  com 
plained,  when,  at  the  end  of  an  hour,  he  surveyed  the 
result  of  their  toil  —  a  windlass  in  the  corner  of  the 
cabin,  with  an  endless  rope  that  ran  around  double 
logrollers. 

Smoke  turned  it  with  a  minimum  of  effort,  and 
the  rope  slipped  and  creaked.  "  Now,  Shorty,  you 
go  outside  and  tell  me  what  it  sounds  like." 

Shorty,  listening  at  the  closed  door,  heard  all  the 
sounds  of  a  windlass  hoisting  a  load,  and  caught 
himself  unconsciously  attempting  to  estimate  the 
depth  of  shaft  out  of  which  this  load  was  being 
hoisted.  Next  came  a  pause,  and  in  his  mind's  eye 
he  saw  the  bucket  swinging  short  to  the  windlass. 
Then  he  heard  the  quick  lower-away  and  the  dull 
sound  as  of  the  bucket  coming  to  abrupt  rest  on  the 
edge  of  the  shaft.  He  threw  open  the  door,  beaming. 

"  I  got  you,"  he  cried.  "  I  almost  fell  for  it  my 
self.  What  next?" 

The  next  was  the  dragging  into  the  cabin  of  a 
dozen  sled-loads  of  rock.  And  through  an  exceed 
ingly  busy  day  there  were  many  other  nexts. 

"  Now  you  run  the  dogs  over  to  Dawson  this 
evening,"  Smoke  instructed,  when  supper  was  fin 
ished.  "  Leave  them  with  Breck.  He  '11  take  care 
of  them.  They  '11  be  watching  what  you  do,  so  get 
Breck  to  go  to  the  A.  C.  Company  and  buy  up  all 
the  blasting-powder  — -  there  's  only  several  hundred 
pounds  in  stock.  And  have  Breck  order  half  a  dozen 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        309 

hard-rock  drills  from  the  blacksmith.  Breck  's  a 
quartz-man,  and  he  '11  give  the  blacksmith  a  rough 
idea  of  what  he  wants  made.  And  give  Breck  these 
location  descriptions,  so  that  he  can  record  them  at 
the  gold  commissioner's  to-morrow.  And  finally,  at 
ten  o  'clock,  you  be  on  Main  Street  listening.  Mind 
you,  I  don't  want  them  to  be  too  loud.  Dawson  must 
just  hear  them  and  no  more  than  hear  them.  I  '11  let 
off  three,  of  different  quantities,  and  you  note  which 
is  more  nearly  the  right  thing." 

At  ten  that  night  Shorty,  strolling  down  Main 
Street,  aware  of  many  curious  eyes,  his  ears  keyed 
tensely,  heard  a  faint  and  distant  explosion.  Thirty 
seconds  later  there  was  a  second,  sufficiently  loud  to 
attract  the  attention  of  others  on  the  street.  Then 
came  a  third,  so  violent  that  it  rattled  the  windows 
and  brought  the  inhabitants  into  the  street. 

"  Shook  'em  up  beautiful,"  Shorty  proclaimed 
breathlessly,  an  hour  afterward,  when  he  arrived  at 
the  cabin  on  Tra-Lee.  He  gripped  Smoke's  hand. 
"  You  should  a-saw  'em.  Ever  kick  over  a  ant-hole  ? 
Dawson  's  just  like  that.  Main  Street  was  crawlin' 
an'  hummin'  when  I  pulled  my  freight.  You  won't 
see  Tra-Lee  to-morrow  for  folks.  An'  if  they  ain't 
some  a-sneakin'  acrost  right  now  I  don't  know  minin' 
nature,  that 's  all." 

Smoke  grinned,  stepped  to  the  fake  windlass,  and 
gave  it  a  couple  of  creaking  turns.  Shorty  pulled 
out  the  moss-chinking  from  between  the  logs  so  as 
to  make  peep-holes  on  every  side  of  the  cabin.  Then 
he  blew  out  the  candle. 


3io  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Now,"  he  whispered  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour. 

Smoke  turned  the  windlass  slowly,  paused  after 
several  minutes,  caught  up  a  galvanized  bucket  filled 
with  earth  and  struck  it  with  slide  and  scrape  and 
grind  against  the  heap  of  rocks  they  had  hauled  in. 
Then  he  lighted  a  cigarette,  shielding  the  flame  of 
the  match  in  his  hands. 

"  They  's  three  of  'em,"  Shorty  whispered.  "  You 
oughta  saw  'em.  Say,  when  you  made  that  bucket- 
dump  noise  they  was  fair  quiverin'.  They  's  one  at 
the  window  now  tryin'  to  peek  in." 

Smoke  glowed  his  cigarette,  and  glanced  at  his 
watch. 

"  We  Ve  got  to  do  this  thing  regularly,"  he 
breathed.  "  We  '11  haul  up  a  bucket  every  fifteen 
minutes.  And  in  the  meantime  —  " 

Through  triple  thicknesses  of  sacking,  he  struck  a 
cold-chisel  on  the  face  of  a  rock. 

"  Beautiful,  beautiful,"  Shorty  moaned  with  de 
light.  He  crept  over  noiselessly  from  the  peep-hole. 
"  They  Ve  got  their  heads  together,  an'  I  can  almost 
see  'em  talkin'." 

And  from  then  until  four  in  the  morning,  at 
fifteen-minute  intervals,  the  seeming  of  a  bucket  was 
hoisted  on  the  windlass  that  creaked  and  ran  around 
on  itself  and  hoisted  nothing.  Then  their  visitors 
departed,  and  Smoke  and  Shorty  went  to  bed. 

After  daylight,  Shorty  examined  the  moccasin- 
marks.  "  Big  Bill  Saltman  was  one  of  them,"  he 
concluded.  "  Look  at  the  size  of  it !  " 

Smoke  looked  out  over  the  river.     "  Get  ready  for 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        311 

visitors.     There     are     two    crossing    the    ice    now." 

"  Huh !  Wait  till  Breck  files  that  string  of  claims 
at  nine  o  'clock.  There  '11  be  two  thousand  crossing 
over.'" 

"  And  every  mother's  son  of  them  yammering 
'  mother-lode/  "  Smoke  laughed.  "  '  The  source  of 
Klondike  placers  found  at  last/  ' 

Shorty,  who  had  clambered  to  the  top  of  a  steep 
shoulder  of  rock,  gazed  with  the  eye  of  a  connois 
seur  at  the  strip  they  had  staked. 

"  It  sure  looks  like  a  true  fissure  vein,"  he  said. 
"  A  expert  could  almost  trace  the  lines  of  it  under 
the  snow.  It  'd  fool  anybody.  The  slide  fills  the 
front  of  it  an'  see  them  outcrops?  Look  like  the 
real  thing,  only  they  ain't." 

When  the  two  men,  crossing  the  river,  climbed 
the  zigzag  trail  up  the  slide,  they  found  a  closed 
cabin.  Bill  Saltman,  who  led  the  way,  went  softly 
to  the  door,  listened,  then  beckoned  Wild  Water 
Charley  up  to  him.  From  inside  came  the  creak  and 
whine  of  a  windlass  bearing  a  heavy  load.  They 
waited  at  the  final  pause,  then  heard  the  lower-away 
and  the  impact  of  a  bucket  on  rock.  Four  times, 
in  the  next  hour,  they  heard  the  thing  repeated.  Then 
Wild  Water  knocked  on  the  door.  From  inside 
came  low  furtive  noises,  then  silences,  and  more 
furtive  noises,  and  at  the  end  of  five  min 
utes  Smoke,  breathing  heavily,  opened  the  door  an 
inch  and  peered  out.  They  saw  on  his  face  and 
shirt  powdered  rock- fragments.  His  greeting  was 
suspiciously  genial. 

• 


312  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  he  added,  "  and  I  '11  be  with 
you." 

Pulling  on  his  mittens,  he  slipped  through  the  door 
and  confronted  the  visitors  outside  in  the  snow. 
Their  quick  eyes  noted  his  shirt,  across  the  shoulders, 
discolored  and  powdery,  and  the  knees  of  his  overalls 
that  showed  signs  of  dirt  brushed  hastily  but  not 
quite  thoroughly  away. 

"  Rather  early  for  a  call,"  he  observed.  "  What 
brings  you  across  the  river?  Going  hunting?" 

"We're  on,  Smoke,"  Wild  Water  said  confiden 
tially.  "  An'  you  'd  just  as  well  come  through. 
You  've  got  something  here." 

"  If  you  're  looking  for  eggs  —  "  Smoke  began. 

"  Aw,  forget  it.     We  mean  business." 

'  You  mean  you  want  to  buy  lots,  eh?"  Smoke 
rattled  on  swiftly.  "  There  's  some  dandy  building 
sites  here.  But,  you  see,  we  can't  sell  yet.  We 
have  n't  had  the  town  surveyed.  Come  around  next 
week,  Wild  Water,  and  for  peace  and  quietness,  I  '11 
show  you  something  swell,  if  you  're  anxious  to  live 
over  here.  Next  week,  sure,  it  will  be  surveyed. 
Good-by.  Sorry  I  can't  ask  you  inside,  but  Shorty  — 
well,  you  know  him.  He 's  peculiar.  He  says  he 
came  over  for  peace  and  quietness,  and  he  's  asleep 
now.  I  would  n't  wake  him  for  the  world." 

As  Smoke  talked  he  shook  their  hands  warmly  in 
farewell.  Still  talking  and  shaking  their  hands,  he 
stepped  inside  and  closed  the  door. 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  nodded  signifi 
cantly. 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        313 

"  See  the  knees  of  his  pants?"  Saltman  whispered 
hoarsely. 

"  Sure.  An'  his  shoulders.  He 's  been  bumpin' 
an'  crawlin'  around  in  a  shaft."  As  Wild  Water 
talked,  his  eyes  wandered  up  the  snow-covered  ra 
vine  until  they  were  halted  by  something  that  brought 
a  whistle  to  his  lips.  "  Just  cast  your  eyes  up  there, 
Bill.  See  where  I  'm  pointing?  If  that  ain't  a  pros 
pect-hole  !  An'  follow  it  out  to  both  sides  —  you 
can  see  where  they  tramped  in  the  snow.  If  it  ain't 
rim-rock  on  both  sides  I  don't  know  what  rim-rock 
is.  It 's  a  fissure  vein,  all  right." 

"An'  look  at  the  size  of  it!"  Saltman  cried. 
"  They  've  got  something  here,  you  bet." 

"  An'  run  your  eyes  down  the  slide  there  —  see 
them  bluffs  standin'  out  an*  slopin'  in.  The  whole 
slide  's  in  the  mouth  of  the  vein  as  well." 

"  And  just  keep  a-lookin'  on,  out  on  the  ice  there, 
on  the  trail,"  Saltman  directed.  "  Looks  like  most 
of  Dawson,  don't  it?" 

Wild  Water  took  one  glance  and  saw  the  trail 
black  with  men  clear  to  the  far  Dawson  bank,  down 
which  the  same  unbroken  string  of  men  was  pouring. 

"  Well,  I  'm  goin'  to  get  a  look-in  at  that  prospect- 
hole  before  they  get  here,"  he  said,  turning  and 'start 
ing  swiftly  up  the  ravine. 

But  the  cabin  door  opened,  and  the  two  occupants 
stepped  out. 

"Hey!"  Smoke  called.  "Where  are  you  going?" 

"To  pick  out  a  lot,"  Wild  Water  called  back. 
"  Look  at  the  river.  All  Dawson 's  stampeding  to 


3H  SMOKE  BELLEW 

buy  lots,  an'  we  're  going  to  beat  'em  to  it  for  the 
choice.  That's  right,  ain't  it,  Sill?" 

"  Sure  thing,"  Saltman  corroborated.  "  This  has 
the  makin's  of  a  Jim-dandy  suburb,  an'  it  sure  looks 
like  it  '11  be  some  popular." 

"  Well,  we  're  not  selling  lots  over  in  that  section 
where  you  're  heading,"  Smoke  answered.  "  Over 
to  the  right  there,  and  back  on  top  of  the  bluffs  are 
the  lots.  This  section,  running  from  the  river  and 
over  the  tops,  is  reserved.  So  come  on  back." 

"  That 's  the  spot  we  Ve  gone  and  selected,"  Saltman 
argued. 

"  But  there 's  nothing  doing,  I  tell  you,"  Smoke 
said  sharply. 

"Any  objections  to  our  strolling,  then?"  Saltman 
persisted. 

"  Decidedly.  Your  strolling  is  getting  monoto 
nous.  Come  on  back  out  of  that." 

"  I  just  reckon  we  '11  stroll  anyways,"  Saltman  re 
plied  stubbornly.  "  Come  on,  Wild  Water." 

"  I  warn  you,  you  are  trespassing,"  was  Smoke's 
final  word. 

"  Nope,  just  strollin',"  Saltman  gaily  retorted,  turn 
ing  his  back  and  starting  on. 

"  Hey !  Stop  in  your  tracks,  Bill,  or  I  '11  sure  bore 
you !  "  Shorty  thundered,  drawing  and  leveling  two 
Colt's  forty-fours.  "  Step  another  step  in  your  steps 
an'  I  let  eleven  holes  through  your  danged  ornary 
carcass.  Get  that?" 

Saltman  stopped,  perplexed. 

"  He  sure  got  me,"   Shorty  mumbled  to   Smoke. 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        315 

"But  if  he  goes  on  I  'm  up  against  it  hard.  I  can't 
shoot.  What '11  I  do?" 

"  Look  here,  Shorty,  listen  to  reason,"  Saltman 
begged. 

"  Come  here  to  me  an'  we  '11  talk  reason,"  was 
Shorty's  retort. 

And  they  were  still  talking  reason  when  the  head 
of  the  stampede  emerged  from  the  zigzag  trail  and 
came  upon  them. 

"  You  can't  call  a  man  a  trespasser  when  he  's  on 
a  town-site  lookin'  to  buy  lots,"  Wild  Water  was 
arguing,  and  Shorty  was  objecting  :  "  But  they  's 
private  property  in  town-isites,  an'  that  there  strip  is 
private  property,  that 's  all.  I  tell  you  again,  it  ain't 
for  sale." 

"  Now  we  've  got  to  swing  this  thing  on  the  jump," 
Smoke  muttered  to  Shorty.  "  If  they  ever  get  out 
of  hand  —  " 

"  You  've  sure  got  your  nerve,  if  you  think  you  can 
hold  them,"  Shorty  muttered  back.  "  They 's  two 
thousan'  of  'em  an'  more  a-comin'.  They  '11  break 
this  line  any  minute." 

The  line  ran  along  the  near  rim  of  the  ravine, 
and  Shorty  had  formed  it  by  halting  the  first  arrivals 
when  they  got  that  far  in  their  invasion.  In  the 
crowd  were  half  a  dozen  Northwest  policemen  and 
a  lieutenant.  With  the  latter  Smoke  conferred  in 
undertones. 

''  They  're  still  piling  out  of  Dawson,"  he  said, 
"  and  before  long  there  will  be  five  thousand  here. 
The  danger  is  if  they  start  jumping  claims. 


3i6  SMOKE  BELLEW 

When  you  figure  there  are  only  five  claims,  it  means 
a  thousand  men  to  a  claim,  and  four  thousand  out 
of  the  five  will  try  to  jump  the  nearest  claim.  It 
can't  be  done,  and  if  it  ever  starts,  there  '11  be  more 
dead  men  here  than  in  the  whole  history  of  Alaska. 
Besides,  those  five  claims  were  recorded  this  morn 
ing  and  can't  be  jumped.  In  short,  claim- jumping 
must  n't  start." 

"  Right-o,"  said  the  lieutenant.  "  I  '11  get  my  men 
together  and  station  them.  We  can't  have  any  trou 
ble  here,  and  we  won't  have.  But  you  'd  better  get 
up  and  talk  to  them." 

*  There  must  be  some  mistake,  fellows,"  Smoke 
began  in  a  loud  voice.  "  We  're  not  ready  to  sell 
lots.  The  streets  are  not  surveyed  yet.  But  next 
week  we  shall  have  the  grand  opening  sale." 

He  was  interrupted  by  an  outburst  of  impatience 
and  indignation. 

"  We  don't  want  lots,"  a  young  miner  cried  out. 
"  We  don't  want  what 's  on  top  of  the  ground. 
We  Ve  come  for  what 's  under  the  ground." 

"  We  don't  know  what  we  've  got  under  the 
ground,"  Smoke  answered.  "  But  we  do  know  we  Jve 
got  a  fine  town-site  on  top  of  it." 

"  Sure,"  Shorty  added.  "  Grand  for  scenery  an' 
solitude.  Folks  lovin'  solitude  come  a-flockin'  here 
by  thousands.  Most  popular  solitude  on  the  Yukon." 

Again  the  impatient  cries  arose,  and  Saltman,  who 
had  been  talking  with  the  later  comers,  came  to  the 
front. 

"  We  're  here  to  stake  claims,"  he  opened,     "  We 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        317 

know  what  you  Ye  did  —  filed  a  string  of  five  quartz 
claims  on  end,  and  there  they  are  over  there  run 
ning  across  the  town-site  on  the  line  of  the  slide  and 
the  canyon.  Only  you  misplayed.  Two  of  them 
entries  is  fake.  Who  is  Seth  Bierce?  No  one  ever 
heard  of  him.  You  filed  a  claim  this  mornin'  in  his 
name.  An'  you  filed  a  claim  in  the  name  of  Harry 
Maxwell.  Now  Harry  Maxwell  ain't  in  the  coun 
try.  He 's  down  in  Seattle.  Went  out  last  fall. 
Them  two  claims  is  open  to  relocation." 

"  Suppose  I  have  his  power  of  attorney?"  Smoke 
queried. 

"  You  ain't,"  Saltman  answered.  "  An'  if  you 
have  you  got  to  show  it.  Anyway,  here  's  where  we 
relocate.  Come  on,  fellows." 

Saltman,  stepping  across  the  dead-line,  had  turned 
to  encourage  a  following,  when  the  police  lieuten 
ant's  voice  rang  out  and  stopped  the  forward  surge 
of  the  great  mass. 

"  Hold  on  there !    You  can't  do  that,  you  know !  " 

"  Can't,  eh?"  said  Bill  Saltman.  "The  law  says 
a  fake  location  can  be  relocated,  don't  it?" 

"Thet's  right,  Bill!  Stay  with  it!"  the  crowd 
cheered  from  the  safe  side  of  the  line. 

"It's  the  law,  ain't  it?"  Saltman  demanded  truc 
ulently  of  the  lieutenant. 

"  It  may  be  the  law,"  came  the  steady  answer. 
"  But  I  can't  and  won't  allow  a  mob  of  five  thou 
sand  men  to  attempt  to  jump  two  claims.  It  would 
be  a  dangerous  riot,  and  we  're  here  to  see  there  is 
no  riot.  Here,  now,  on  this  spot,  the  Northwest 


318  SMOKE  BELLEW 

police  constitute  the  law.  The  next  man  who  crosses 
that  line  will  be  shot.  You,  Bill  Saltman,  step  back 
across  it. 

Saltman  obeyed  reluctantly.  But  an  ominous  rest 
lessness  became  apparent  in  the  mass  of  men,  irreg 
ularly  packed  and  scattered  as  it  was  over  a  land 
scape  that  was  mostly  up-and-down. 

"  Heavens,"  the  lieutenant  whispered  to  Smoke. 
"  Look  at  them  like  flies  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff 
there.  Any  disorder  in  that  mass  would  force  hun 
dreds  of  them  over." 

Smoke  shuddered  and  got  up.  "  I  'm  willing  to 
play  fair,  fellows.  If  you  insist  on  town  lots,  I  '11 
sell  them  to  you,  one  hundred  apiece,  and  you  can 
raffle  locations  when  the  survey  is  made."  With 
raised  hand  he  stilled  the  movement  of  disgust. 
"  Don't  move,  anybody.  If  you  do,  there  '11  be  hun 
dreds  of  you  shoved  over  the  bluff.  The  situation  is 
dangerous." 

:t  Just  the  same,  you  can't  hog  it,"  a  voice  went  up. 
"  We  don't  want  lots.  We  want  to  relocate." 

"  But  there  are  only  two  disputed  claims,"  Smoke 
argued.  "  When  they  're  relocated  where  will  the 
rest  of  you  be  ?  " 

He  mopped  his  forehead  with  his  shirt-sleeve,  and 
another  voice  cried  out: 

"  Let  us  all  in,  share  and  share  alike !  " 

Nor  did  those  who  roared  their  approbation  dream 
that  the  suggestion  had  been  made  by  a  man  primed  to 
make  it  when  he  saw  Smoke  mop  his  forehead. 

"  Take  your  feet  out  of  the  trough  an'  pool  the 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        319 

town-site,"   the   man   went  on.      "  Pool   the  mineral 
rights  with  the  town-site,  too." 

"  But  there  is  n't  anything  in  the  mineral  rights,  I 
tell  you,"  Smoke  objected. 

"  Then  pool  them  with  the  rest.  We  '11  take  our 
chances  on  it." 

"  Fellows,  you  're  forcing  me,"  Smoke  said.  "  I 
wish  you  'd  stayed  on  your  side  of  the  river." 

But  wavering  indecision  was  so  manifest  that  with 
a  mighty  roar  the  crowd  swept  him  on  to  agreement. 
Saltman  and  others  in  the  front  rank  demurred. 

"  Bill  Saltman,  here,  and  Wild  Water  don't  want 
you  all  in,"  Smoke  informed  the  crowd.  "  Who  's 
hogging  it  now?  " 

And  thereat  Saltman  and  Wild  Water  became 
profoundly  unpopular. 

"  Now  how  are  we  going  to  do  it?  "  Smoke  asked. 
"  Shorty  and  I  ought  to  keep  control.  We  discov 
ered  this  town-site." 

"  That 's  right !  "  many  cried.  "  A  square  deal !  " 
"It's  only  fair!" 

"  Three-fifths  to  us,"  Smoke  suggested,  "  and  you 
fellows  come  in  for  two-fifths.  And  you  Jve  got  to 
pay  for  your  shares." 

'  Ten  cents  on  the  dollar ! "  was   a  cry.     "  And 
non-assessable !  " 

"  And  the  president  of  the  company  to  come 
around  personally  and  pay  you  your  dividends  on  a 
silver  platter,"  Smoke  sneered.  "  No,  sir.  You  fel 
lows  have  got  to  be  reasonable.  Ten  cents  on  the 
dollar  will  help  start  things.  You  buy  two-fifths  of 


320  SMOKE  BELLEW 

the  stock,  hundred  dollars  par,  at  ten  dollars.  That 's 
the  best  I  can  do.  And  if  you  don't  like  it,  just  start 
jumping  the  claims.  I  can't  stand  more  than  a  two- 
fifths  gouge." 

"  No  big  capitalization ! "  a  voice  called,  and  it 
was  this  voice  that  crystallized  the  collective  mind 
of  the  crowd  into  consent. 

''  There  's  about  five  thousand  of  you,  which  will 
make  five  thousand  shares,"  Smoke  worked  the  prob 
lem  aloud.  "  And  five  thousand  is  two-fifths  of 
twelve  thousand,  five  hundred.  Therefore  the  Tra- 
Lee  Town-Site  Company  is  capitalized  for  one 
million  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  there 
being  twelve  thousand,  five  hundred  shares,  hundred 
par,  you  fellows  buying  five  thousand  of  them  at 
ten  dollars  apiece.  And  I  don't  care  a  whoop  whether 
you  accept  it  or  not.  And  I  call  you  all  to  witness 
that  you  're  forcing  me  against  my  will." 

With  the  assurance  of  the  crowd  that  they  had 
caught  him  with  the  goods  on  him,  in  the  shape  of 
the  two  fake  locations,  a  committee  was  formed  and 
the  rough  organization  of  the  Tra-Lee  Town-Site 
Company  effected.  Scorning  the  proposal  of  deliv 
ering  the  shares  next  day  in  Dawson,  and  scorning 
it  because  of  the  objection  that  the  portion  of  Daw- 
son  that  had  not  engaged  in  the  stampede  would  ring 
in  for  shares,  the  committee,  by  a  fire  on  the  ice  at 
the  foot  of  the  slide,  issued  a  receipt  to  each  stam- 
peder  in  return  for  ten  dollars  in  dust  duly  weighed 
on  two  dozen  gold-scales  which  were  obtained  from 
Dawson. 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE        321 

By  twilight  the  work  was  accomplished  and  Tra- 
Lee  was  deserted,  save  for  Smoke  and  Shorty,  who 
ate  supper  in  the  cabin  and  chuckled  at  the  list  of 
shareholders,  four  thousand  eight  hundred  and  sev 
enty-four  strong,  and  at  the  gold-sacks,  which  they 
knew  contained  approximately  forty-eight  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  forty  dollars. 

"  But  you  ain't  swung  it  yet,"  Shorty  objected. 

"  He  '11  be  here,"  Smoke  asserted  with  conviction. 
"  He 's  a  born  gambler,  and  when  Breck  whispers 
the  tip  to  him  not  even  heart  disease  would  stop 
him." 

Within  the  hour  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
Wild  Wrater  entered,  followed  by  Bill  Saltman. 
Their  eyes  swept  the  cabin  eagerly,  coming  to  rest 
on  the  windlass  elaborately  concealed  by  blankets. 

"  But  suppose  I  did  want  to  vote  twelve  hundred 
shares,"  Wild  Water  was  arguing  half  an  hour  later. 
"  With  the  other  five  thousand  sold  to-day  it  'd  make 
only  sixty-two  hundred  shares.  That  'd  leave  you 
and  Shorty  with  sixty-three  hundred.  You  'd  still 
control." 

"  But  what  d'  you  want  with  all  that  of  a  town- 
site?"  Shorty  queried. 

"  You  can  answer  that  better  'n  me,"  Wild  Water 
replied.  "  An'  between  you  an'  me,"  his  gaze 
drifted  over  the  blanket-draped  windlass,  "  it  Js  a  pretty 
good-looking  town-site." 

"  But  Bill  wants  some,"  Smoke  said  grudgingly, 
"  and  we  simply  won't  part  with  more  than  five 
hundred  shares." 


322  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  How  much  you  got  to  invest  ? "  Wild  Water 
asked  Saltman. 

"  Oh,  say  five  thousand.  It  was  all  I  could  scare 
up." 

f>(  Wild  Water,"  Smoke  went  on,  in  the  same  grudg 
ing,  complaining  voice,  "  if  I  did  n't  know  you  so 
well,  I  would  n't  sell  you  a  single  besotted  share. 
And,  anyway,  Shorty  and  I  won't  part  with  more 
than  five  hundred,  and  they  '11  cost  you  fifty  dollars 
apiece.  That 's  the  last  word,  and  if  you  don't  like 
it,  good-night.  Bill  can  take  a  hundred  and  you  can 
have  the  other  four  hundred." 

Next  day  Dawson  began  its  laugh.  It  started  early 
in  the  morning,  just  after  daylight,  when  Smoke  went 
to  the  bulletin-board  outside  the  A.  C.  Company  store 
and  tacked  up  a  notice.  Men  gathered  and  were 
reading  and  snickering  over  his  shoulder  ere  he  had 
driven  the  last  tack.  Soon  the  bulletin-board  was 
crowded  by  hundreds  who  could  not  get  near  enough 
to  read.  Then  a  reader  was  appointed  by  acclama 
tion,  and  thereafter,  throughout  the  day,  many  men 
were  acclaimed  to  read  in  loud  voice  the  notice 
Smoke  Bellew  had  nailed  up.  And  there  were  num 
bers  of  men  who  stood  in  the  snow  and  heard  it  read 
several  times  in  order  to  memorize  the  succulent  items 
that  appeared  in  the  following  order  : 

The  Tra-Lee  Town-Site  Company  keeps  its  accounts  on  the 
wall.  This  is  its  first  account  and  its  last. 

Any  shareholder  who  objects  to  donating  ten  dollars  to  the 
Dawson  General  Hospital  may  obtain  his  ten  dollars  on  personal 
application  to  Wild  Water  Charley,  or,  failing  that,  will  abso 
lutely  obtain  it  on .  application  to  Smoke  Bellew. 


THE  TOWN-SITE  OF  TRA-LEE         323 

Moneys  Received  and  Disbursed 

From  4874  shares   at  $10.00 $48,740.00 

To  Dwight  Sanderson  for  Town-Site  of  Tra-Lee 10,000.00 

To  incidental  expenses,  to  wit :  powder,  drills,  windlass, 

gold  commissioner's  office,  etc 1,000.00 

To  Dawson   General   Hospital 37,74°.oo 


Total    ,  $48,740.00 


From  Bill  Saltman,  for  100  shares  privately  purchased 

at  $50.00  $  5,000.00 

From  Wild  Water  Charley,  for  400  shares  privately  pur 
chased  at  $50.00 20,000.00 

To  Bill  Saltman,  in  recognition  of  services  as  volunteer 

stampede  promoter  5,000.00 

To  Dawson  General  Hospital  3,000.00 

To  Smoke  Bellew  and  Jack  Short,  balance  in  full  on 

egg  deal  and  morally  owing 17,000.00 


Total    $25,000.00 

Shares  remaining  to  account  for  7126.  These  shares,  held 
by  Smoke  Bellew  and  Jack  Short,  value  nil,  may  be  obtained 
gratis,  for  the  asking,  by  any  and  all  residents  of  Dawson  de 
siring  change  of  domicile  to  the  peace  and  solitude  of  the  town 
of  Tra-Lee. 

(Note:  Peace  and  solitude  always  and  perpetually  guar 
anteed  in  town  of  Tra-Lee) 

(Signed)  SMOKE  BELLEW,  President. 

(Signed)  JACK  SHORT,  Secretary. 


XII 

WONDER   OF   WOMAN 

"TUST  the  same,  I  notice  you  ain't  tumbled  over 
J  yourself  to  get  married,"  Shorty  remarked,  con 
tinuing  a  conversation  that  had  lapsed  some  few 
minutes  before. 

Smoke,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  sleeping-robe 
and  examining  the  feet  of  a  dog  he  had  rolled  snarl 
ing  on  ks  back  in  the  snow,  did  not  answer.  And 
Shorty,  turning  a  steaming  moccasin  propped  on  a 
stick  before  the  fire,  studied  his  partner's  face 
keenly. 

"  Cock  your  eye  up  at  that  there  aurora  borealis," 
Shorty  went  -on.  "  Some  frivolous,  eh  ?  Just  like 
any  shilly-shallyin',  shirt-dancing  woman.  The  best 
of  them  is  frivolous,  when  they  ain't  foolish.  And 
they  's  cats,  all  of  'em,  the  littlest  an'  the  biggest,  the 
nicest  and  the  otherwise.  They  're  sure  devourin' 
lions  an'  roarin'  hyenas  when  they  get  on  the  trail 
of  a  man  they  've  cottoned  to." 

Again  the  monologue  languished.  Smoke  cuffed 
the  dog  when  it  attempted  to  snap  his  hand,  and 
went  on  examining  its  bruised  and  bleeding  pads. 

"  Huh!  "  pursued  Shorty.  "  Mebbe  I  could  n't  V 
married  if  I  'd  a  mind  to !  An'  mebbe  I  would  n't  'a' 
been  married  without  a  mind  to,  if  I  had  n't  hiked 

324 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  325 

for  tall  timber.  Smoke,  d'  you  want  to  know  what 
saved  me?  I  '11  tell  you.  My  wind.  I  just  kept  a- 
runnin'.  I  'd  like  to  see  any  skirt  run  me  outa 
breath." 

Smoke  released  the  animal  and  turned  his  own 
steaming,  stick-propped  moccasins.  "  We  've  got  to 
rest  over  to-morrow  and  make  moccasins,"  he  vouch 
safed.  "  That  little  crust  is  playing  the  devil  with 
their  feet." 

"  We  oughta  keep  goin'  somehow,"  Shorty  ob 
jected.  "  We  ain't  got  grub  enough  to  turn  back 
with,  and  we  gotta  strike  that  run  of  caribou  or  them 
white  Indians  almighty  soon  or  we  '11  be  eatin'  the 
dogs,  sore  feet  an'  all.  Now  who  ever  seen  them 
white  Indians  anyway?  Nothin'  but  hearsay.  An' 
how  can  a  Indian  be  white  ?  A  black  white  man  'd 
be  as  natural.  Smoke,  we  just  oughta  travel  to-mor 
row.  The  country  's  plumb  dead  of  game.  We  ain't 
seen  even  a  rabbit-track  in  a  week,  you  know  that. 
An'  we  gotta  get  out  of  this  dead  streak  into  some 
where  that  meat 's  runnin'." 

"  They  '11  travel  all  the  better  with  a  day's  rest  for 
their  feet  and  moccasins  all  around,"  Smoke  coun 
seled.  "If  you  get  a  chance  at  any  low  divide,  take 
a  peep  over  at  the  country  beyond.  We  're  likely 
to  strike  open  rolling  country  any  time  now.  That 's 
what  La  Perle  told  us  to  look  for." 

"  Huh !  By  his  own  story,  it  wras  ten  years  ago 
that  La  Perle  come  through  this  section,  an'  he  was 
that  loco  from  hunger  he  could  n't  know  what  he  did 
see.  Remember  what  he  said  of  whoppin'  big  flags 


326  SMOKE  BELLEW 

floatin'  from  the  tops  of  the  mountains?  That  shows 
how  loco  he  was.  An'  he  said  himself  he  never  seen 
any  white  Indians  —  that  was  Anton's  yarn.  An', 
besides,  Anton  kicked  the  bucket  two  years  before 
you  an'  me  come  to  Alaska.  But  I  '11  take  a  look 
to-morrow.  An'  mebbe  I  might  pick  up  a  moose. 
What  d'  you  say  we  turn  in  ?  " 

Smoke  spent  the  morning  in  camp,  sewing  dog- 
moccasins  and  repairing  harnesses.  At  noon  he 
cooked  a  meal  for  two,  ate  his  share,  and  began  to 
look  for  Shorty's  return.  An  hour  later  he  strapped 
on  his  snow-shoes  and  went  out  on  his  partner's  trail. 
The  way  led  up  the  bed  of  the  stream,  through  a 
narrow  gorge  that  widened  suddenly  into  a  moose- 
pasture.  But  no  moose  had  been  there  since  the  first 
snow  of  the  preceding  fall.  The  tracks  of  Shorty's 
snow-shoes  crossed  the  pasture  and  went  up  the  easy 
slope  of  a  low  divide.  At  the  crest  Smoke  halted. 
The  tracks  continued  down  the  other  slope.  The 
first  spruce-trees,  in  the  creek  bed,  were  a  mile  away, 
and  it  was  evident  that  Shorty  had  passed  through 
them  and  gone  on.  Smoke  looked  at  his  watch,  re 
membered  the  oncoming  darkness,  the  dogs,  and  the 
camp,  and  reluctantly  decided  against  going  farther. 
But  before  he  retraced  his  steps  he  paused  for  a 
long  look.  All  the  eastern  sky-line  was  saw-toothed 
by  the  snowy  backbone  of  the  Rockies.  The  whole 
mountain  system,  range  upon  range,  seemed  to  trend 
to  the  northwest,  cutting  athwart  the  course  to  the 
open  country  reported  by  La  Perle.  The  effect  was 
as  if  the  mountains  conspired  to  thrust  back  the 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  327 

traveler  toward  the  west  and  the  Yukon.  Smoke 
wondered  how  many  men  in  the  past,  approaching 
as  he  had  approached,  had  been  turned  aside  by  that 
forbidding  aspect.  La  Perle  had  not  been  turned 
aside,  but,  then,  La  Perle  had  crossed  over  from 
the  eastern  slope  of  the  Rockies. 

Until  midnight  Smoke  maintained  a  huge  fire  for 
the  guidance  of  Shorty.  And  in  the  morning,  wait 
ing  with  camp  broken  and  dogs  harnessed  for  the 
first  break  of  light,  Smoke  took  up  the  pursuit.  In 
the  narrow  pass  of  the  canyon,  his  lead-dog  pricked 
up  its  ears  and  whined.  Then  Smoke  came  upon 
the  Indians,  six  of  them,  coming  toward  him.  They 
were  traveling  light,  without  dogs,  and  on  each 
man's  back  was  the  smallest  of  pack  outfits.  Sur 
rounding  Smoke,  they  immediately  gave  him  several 
matters  for  surprise.  That  they  were  looking  for 
him  was  clear.  That  they  talked  no  Indian  tongue 
of  which  he  knew  a  word  was  also  quickly  made 
clear.  They  were  not  white  Indians,  though  they 
were  taller  and  heavier  than  the  Indians  of  the 
Yukon  basin.  Five  of  them  carried  the  old-fash 
ioned,  long-barreled  Hudson  Bay  Company  musket, 
and  in  the  hands  of  the  sixth  was  a  Winchester  rifle 
which  Smoke  knew  to  be  Shorty's. 

Nor  did  they  waste  time  in  making  him  a  prisoner. 
Unarmed  himself,  Smoke  could  only  submit.  The 
contents  of  the  sled  were  distributed  among  their 
own  packs,  and  he  was  given  a  pack  composed  of 
his  and  Shorty's  sleeping-furs.  The  dogs  were  un 
harnessed,  and  when  Smoke  protested,  one  of  the  In- 


328  SMOKE  BELLEW 

dians,  by  signs,  indicated  a  trail  too  rough  for  sled- 
travel.  Smoke  bowed  to  the  inevitable,  cached  the 
sled  end-on  in  the  snow  on  the  bank  above  the  stream, 
and  trudged  on  with  his  captors.  Over  the  divide  to 
the  north  they  went,  down  to  the  spruce-trees  which 
Smoke  had  glimpsed  the  preceding  afternoon.  They 
followed  the  stream  for  a  dozen  miles,  abandoning  it 
when  it  trended  to  the  west  and  heading  directly 
eastward  up  a  narrow  tributary. 

The  first  night  was  spent  in  a  camp  which  had 
been  occupied  for  several  days.  Here  was  cached  a 
quantity  of  dried  salmon  and  a  sort  of  pemmican, 
which  the  Indians  added  to  their  packs.  From  this 
camp  a  trail  of  many  snow-shoes  led  off  —  Shorty's 
captors,  was  Smoke's  conclusion  ;  and  before  dark 
ness  fell  he  succeeded  in  making  out  the  tracks 
Shorty's  narrower  snow-shoes  had  left.  On  ques 
tioning  the  Indians  by  signs,  they  nodded  affirmation 
and  pointed  to  the  north. 

Always,  in  the  days  that  followed,  they  pointed 
north;  and  always  the  trail,  turning  and  twisting 
through  a  jumble  of  upstanding  peaks,  trended  north. 
Everywhere,  in  this  bleak  snow-solitude,  the  way 
seemed  barred,  yet  ever  the  trail  curved  and  coiled, 
finding  low  divides  and  avoiding  the  higher  and  un- 
traversable  chains.  The  snow-fall  was  deeper  than 
in  the  lower  valleys,  and  every  step  of  the  way  was 
snow-shoe  work.  Furthermore,  Smoke's  captors,  all 
young  men,  traveled  light  and  fast;  and  he  could 
not  forbear  the  prick  of  pride  in  the  knowledge  that 
he  easily  kept  up  with  them.  They  were  travel- 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  329 

hardened  and  trained  to  snow-shoes  from  infancy; 
yet  such  was  his  condition  that  the  traverse  bore  no 
more  of  ordinary  hardship  to  him  than  to  them. 

In  six  days  they  gained  and  crossed  the  central 
pass,  low  in  comparison  with  the  mountains  it 
threaded,  yet  formidable  in  itself  and  not  possible 
for  loaded  sleds.  Five  days  more  of  tortuous  wind 
ing,  from  lower  altitude  to  lower  altitude,  brought 
them  to  the  open,  rolling,  and  merely  hilly  country 
La  Perle  had  found  ten  years  before.  Smoke  knew 
it  with  the  first  glimpse,  on  a  sharp  cold  day,  the  ther 
mometer  forty  below  zero,  the  atmosphere  so  clear 
that  he  could  see  a  hundred  miles.  Far  as  he  could 
see  rolled  the  open  country.  High  in  the  east  the 
Rockies  still  thrust  their  snowy  ramparts  heaven 
ward.  To  the  south  and  west  extended  the  broken 
ranges  of  the  projecting  spur-system  they  had 
crossed.  And  in  this  vast  pocket  lay  the  country  La 
Perle  had  traversed  —  snow-blanketed,  but  assuredly 
fat  with  game  at  some  time  in  the  year,  and  in  the 
summer  a  smiling,  forested,  and  flowered  land. 

Before  midday,  traveling  down  a  broad  stream, 
past  snow-buried  willows  and  naked  aspens,  and 
across  heavily  timbered  flats  of  spruce,  they  came 
upon  the  site  of  a  large  camp,  recently  abandoned. 
Glancing  as  he  went  by,  Smoke  estimated  four  or 
five  hundred  fires,  and  guessed  the  population  to 
be  in  the  thousands.  So  fresh  was  the  trail,  and  so 
well  packed  by  the  multitude,  that  Smoke  and  his 
captors  took  off  their  snow-shoes  and  in  their  moc 
casins  struck  a  swifter  pace.  Signs  of  game  appeared 


330  SMOKE  BELLEW 

and  grew  plentiful  —  tracks  of  wolves  and  lynxes 
that  without  meat  could  not  be.  Once,  one  of  the  In 
dians  cried  out  with  satisfaction  and  pointed  to  a 
large  area  of  open  snow,  littered  with  fang-polished 
skulls  of  caribou,  trampled  and  disrupted  as  if  an 
army  had  fought  upon  it.  And  Smoke  knew  that  a 
big  killing  had  been  made  by  the  hunters  since  the 
last  snow-flurry. 

In  the  long  twilight  no  sign  was  manifested  of 
making  camp.  They  held  steadily  on  through  a  deep 
ening  gloom  that  vanished  under  a  sky  of  light  — 
great,  glittering  stars  half  veiled  by  a  greenish  vapor 
of  pulsing  aurora  borealis.  His  dogs  first  caught  the 
noises  of  the  camp,  pricking  their  ears  and  whining 
in  low  eagerness.  Then  it  came  to  the  ears  of  the 
humans,  a  murmur,  dim  with  distance,  but  not  in 
vested  with  the  soothing  grace  that  is  common  to 
distant  murmurs.  Instead,  it  was  in  a  high,  wild 
key,  a  beat  of  shrill  sound  broken  by  shriller  sounds 
—  the  long  wolf -howling  of  many  wolf-dogs,  a 
screaming  of  unrest  and  pain,  mournful  with  hope 
lessness  and  rebellion.  Smoke  swung  back  the  crys 
tal  of  his  watch  and  by  the  feel  of  finger-tips  on  the 
naked  hands  made  out  eleven  o  'clock.  The  men 
about  him  quickened.  The  legs  that  had  lifted 
through  a  dozen  strenuous  hours  lifted  in  a  still 
swifter  pace  that  was  half  a  run  and  mostly  a  run 
ning  jog.  Through  a  dark  spruce-flat  they  burst 
upon  an  abrupt  glare  of  light  from  many  fires  and 
upon  an  abrupt  increase  of  sound.  The  great  camp 
lay  before  them. 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  331 

And  as  they  entered  and  threaded  the  irregular 
runways  of  the  hunting-camp,  a  vast  tumult,  as  in  a 
wave,  rose  to  meet  them  and  rolled  on  with  them  — 
cries,  greetings,  questions  and  answers,  jests  and 
jests  thrust  back  again,  the  snapping  snarl  of  wolf- 
dogs  rushing  in  furry  projectiles  of  wrath  upon 
Smoke's  stranger  dogs,  the  scolding  of  squaws, 
laughter,  the  whimpering  of  children  and  wailing  of 
infants,  the  moans  of  the  sick  aroused  afresh  to  pain, 
all  the  pandemonium  of  a  camp  of  nerveless,  primi 
tive  wilderness  folk. 

Striking  with  clubs  and  the  butts  of  guns,  Smoke's 
party  drove  back  the  attacking  dogs,  while  his  own 
dogs,  snapping  and  snarling,  awed  by  so  many  ene 
mies,  shrank  in  among  the  legs  of  their  human  pro 
tectors,  and  bristled  along  stiff-legged  in  menacing 
prance. 

They  Raited  in  the  trampled  snow  by  an  open  fire, 
where  Shorty  and  two  young  Indians,  squatted  on 
their  hams,  were  broiling  strips  of  caribou  meat. 
Three  other  young  Indians,  lying  in  furs  on  a  mat  of 
spruce-boughs,  sat  up.  Shorty  looked  across  the  fire 
at  his  partner,  but  with  a  sternly  impassive  face,  like 
those  of  his  companions,  made  no  sign  and  went  on 
broiling  the  meat. 

"  What  's  the  matter?"  Smoke  demanded,  half  in 
irritation.  "  Lost  your  speech?  " 

The  old  familiar  grin  twisted  on  Shorty's  face. 
"  Nope,"  he  answered.  "  I  'm  a  Indian.  I  'm  learn- 
in'  not  to  show  surprise.  When  did  they  catch 
you?" 


332  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Next  day  after  you  left." 

"  Hum,"  Shorty  said,  the  light  of  whimsy  dancing 
in  his  eyes.  "  Well,  I  'm  doin'  fine,  thank  you  most 
to  death.  This  is  the  bachelor's  camp."  He  waved 
his  hand  to  embrace  its  magnificence,  which  consisted 
of  a  fire,  beds  of  spruce-boughs  laid  on  top  of  the 
snow,  flies  of  caribou  skin,  and  wind-shields  of 
twisted  spruce  and  willow  withes.  "  An'  these  are 
the  bachelors."  This  time  his  hand  indicated  the 
young  men,  and  he  spat  a  few  spoken  gutturals  in 
their  own  language  that  brought  the  white  flash  of 
acknowledgment  from  eyes  and  teeth.  "  They  're 
glad  to  meet  you,  Smoke.  Set  down  an*  dry  your 
moccasins,  an'  I  '11  cook  up  some  grub.  I  'm  gettin' 
the  hang  of  the  lingo  pretty  well,  ain't  I  ?  You  '11 
have  to  come  to  it,  for  it  looks  as  if  we  '11  be  with 
these  folks  a  long  time.  They  's  another  white  man 
here.  Got  caught  six  years  ago.  He  's  a  Irishman 
they  picked  up  over  Great  Slave  Lake  way.  Danny 
McCan  is  what  he  goes  by.  He  's  settled  down  with 
a  squaw.  Got  two  kids  already,  but  he  '11  skin  out 
if  ever  the  chance  opens  up.  See  that  low  fire  over 
there  to  the  right?  That's  his  camp." 

Apparently  this  was  Smoke's  appointed  domicile, 
for  his  captors  left  him  and  his  dogs,  and  went  on 
deeper  into  the  big  camp.  While  he  attended  to  his 
foot-gear  and  devoured  strips  of  hot  meat,  Shorty 
cooked  and  talked. 

"  This  is  a  sure  peach  of  a  pickle,  Smoke  —  you 
listen  to  me.  An'  we  got  to  go  some  to  get  out. 
These  is  the  real,  blowed-in-the-glass,  wild  Indians. 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  333 

They  ain't  white,  but  their  chief  is.  He  talks  like  a 
mouthful  of  hot  mush,  an'  if  he  ain't  full-blood 
Scotch  they  ain't  no  such  thing  as  Scotch  in  the  world. 
He 's  the  hi-yu,  skookum  top-chief  of  the  whole 
caboodle.  What  he  says  goes.  You  want  to  get 
that  from  the  start-off.  Danny  McCan  's  been  tryin' 
to  get  away  from  him  for  six  years.  Danny  's  all 
right,  but  he  ain't  got  go  in  him.  He  knows  a  way 
out  —  learned  it  on  huntin'  trips  —  to  the  west  of 
the  way  you  an'  me  came.  He  ain't  had  the  nerve 
to  tackle  it  by  his  lonely.  But  we  can  pull  it  off, 
the  three  of  us.  Whiskers  is  the  real  goods,  but  he  's 
mostly  loco  just  the  same." 

"Who's  Whiskers?"  Smoke  queried,  pausing  in 
the  wolfing-down  of  a  hot  strip  of  meat. 

"  Why,  he  's  the  top  geezer.  He  's  the  Scotcher. 
He  's  gettin'  old,  an'  he  's  sure  asleep  now,  but  he  '11 
see  you  to-morrow  an'  show  you  clear  as  print  what 
a  measly  shrimp  you  are  on  his  stompin'-grounds. 
These  grounds  belong  to  him.  You  got  to  get  that 
into  your  noodle.  They  ain't  never  been  explored, 
nor  no  thin',  an'  they  're  hisn.  An'  he  won't  let  you 
forget  it.  He  's  got  about  twenty  thousand  square 
miles  of  huntin'  country  here  all  his  own.  He 's 
the  white  Indian,  him  an'  the  skirt.  Huh!  Don't 
look  at  me  that  way.  Wait  till  you  see  her.  Some 
looker,  an'  all  white,  like  her  dad  —  he  's  Whiskers. 
An'  say,  caribou !  I  've  saw  'em.  A  hundred  thousan' 
of  good  running  meat  in  the  herd,  an'  ten  thousan' 
wolves  an'  cats  a-followinj  an'  livin'  off  the  stragglers 
an'  the  leavin's.  We  leave  the  leavin's.  The  herd  's 


334  SMOKE  BELLEW 

movin'  to  the  east,  an'  we  '11  be  f ollowin'  'em  any 
day  now.  We  eat  our  dogs,  an'  what  we  don't 
eat  we  smoke  'n  cure  for  the  spring  before  the 
salmon-run  gets  its  sting  in.  Say,  what  Whiskers 
don't  know  about  salmon  an'  caribou  nobody  knows, 
take  it  from  me. 

"  Here  comes  Whiskers  lookin'  like  he  ?s  goin' 
somewheres,"  Shorty  whispered,  reaching  over  and 
wiping  greasy  hands  on  the  coat  of  one  of  the  sled- 
dogs. 

It  was  morning,  and  the  bachelors  were  squatting 
over  a  breakfast  of  caribou-meat,  which  they  ate  as 
they  broiled.  Smoke  glanced  up  and  saw  a  small  and 
slender  man,  skin-clad  like  any  savage,  but  unmistak 
ably  white,  striding  in  advance  of  a  sled  team  and  a 
following  of  a  dozen  Indians.  Smoke  cracked  a  hot 
bone,  and  while  he  sucked  out  the  steaming  marrow 
gazed  at  his  approaching  host.  Bushy  whiskers  and 
yellowish  gray  hair,  stained  by  camp  smoke,  con 
cealed  most  of  the  face,  but  failed  wholly  to  hide 
the  gaunt,  almost  cadaverous,  cheeks.  It  was  a 
healthy  leanness,  Smoke  decided,  as  he  noted  the  wide 
flare  of  the  nostrils  and  the  breadth  and  depth  of 
chest  that  gave  spaciousness  to  the  guaranty  of 
oxygen  and  life. 

"  How  do  you  do,"  the  man  said,  slipping  a  mitten 
and  holding  out  his  bare  hand.  "  My  name  is  Snass," 
he  added,  as  they  shook  hands. 

"  Mine 's  Bellew,"  Smoke  returned,  feeling  pecul 
iarly  disconcerted  as  he  gazed  into  the  keen-search 
ing  black  eyes. 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  335 

"  Getting  plenty  to  eat,  I  see." 

Smoke  nodded  and  resumed  his  marrow-bone,  the 
purr  of  Scottish  speech  strangely  pleasant  in  his 
ears. 

"  Rough  rations.  But  we  don't  starve  often.  And 
it 's  more  natural  than  the  hand-reared  meat  of  the 
cities." 

"  I  see  you  don't  like  cities/'  Smoke  laughed,  in 
order  to  be  saying  something;  and  was  immediately 
startled  by  the  transformation  Snass  underwent. 

Quite  like  a  sensitive  plant,  the  man's  entire  form 
seemed  to  wilt  and  quiver.  Then  the  recoil,  tense 
and  savage,  concentered  in  the  eyes,  in  which  ap 
peared  a  hatred  that  screamed  of  immeasurable  pain. 
He  turned  abruptly  away,  and,  recollecting  himself, 
remarked  casually  over  his  shoulder : 

"  I  '11  see  you  later,  Mr.  Bellew.  The  caribou  are 
moving  east,  and  I  'm  going  ahead  to  pick  out  a 
location.  You  '11  all  come  on  to-morrow." 

"Some  Whiskers,  that,  eh?"  Shorty  muttered,  as 
Snass  pulled  on  at  the  head  of  his  outfit. 

Again  Shorty  wiped  his  hands  on  the  wolf-dog, 
which  seemed  to  like  it  as  it  licked  off  the  delectable 
grease. 

Later  on  in  the  morning  Smoke  went  for  a  stroll 
through  the  camp,  busy  with  its  primitive  pursuits. 
A  big  body  of  hunters  had  just  returned,  and  the 
men  were  scattering  to  their  various  fires.  Women 
and  children  were  departing  with  dogs  harnessed  to 
empty  toboggan-sleds,  and  women  and  children  and 
dogs  were  hauling  sleds  heavy  with  meat  fresh  from 


336  SMOKE  BELLEW 

the  killing-  and  already  frozen.  An  early  spring 
cold-snap  was  on,  and  the  wildness  of  the  scene  was 
painted  in  a  temperature  of  thirty  below  zero.  Woven 
cloth  was  not  in  evidence.  Furs  and  soft-tanned 
leather  clad  all  alike.  Boys  passed  with  bows  in 
their  hands,  and  quivers  of  bone-barbed  arrows; 
and  many  a  skinning-knife  of  bone  or  stone  Smoke 
saw  in  belts  or  neck-hung  sheaths.  Women  toiled 
over  the  fires,  smoke-curing  the  meat,  on  their  backs 
infants  that  stared  round-eyed  and  sucked  at  lumps 
of  tallow.  Dogs,  full-kin  to  wolves,  bristled  up  to 
Smoke  to  endure  the  menace  of  the  short  club  he 
carried  and  to  whiff  the  odor  of  this  newcomer  whom 
they  must  accept  by  virtue  of  the  club. 

Segregated  in  the  heart  of  the  camp,  Smoke  came 
upon  what  was  evidently  Snass's  fire.  Though  tem 
porary  in  every  detail,  it  was  solidly  constructed  and 
was  on  a  large  scale.  A  great  heap  of  bales  of  skins 
and  outfit  was  piled  on  a  scaffold  out  of  reach  of  the 
dogs.  A  large  canvas  fly,  almost  half-tent,  sheltered 
the  sleeping-  and  living-quarters.  To  one  side  was  a 
silk  tent  —  the  sort  favored  by  explorers  and 
wealthy  big-game  hunters.  Smoke  had  never  seen 
such  a  tent,  and  stepped  closer.  As  he  stood  looking, 
the  flaps  parted  and  a  young  woman  came  out.  So 
quickly  did  she  move,  so  abruptly  did  she  appear, 
that  the  effect  on  Smoke  was  as  that  of  an  appari 
tion.  He  seemed  to  have  the  same  effect  on  her,  and 
for  a  long  moment  they  gazed  at  each  other. 

She  was  dressed  entirely  in  skins,  but  such  skins 
and  such  magnificently  beautiful  fur- work  Smoke 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  337 

had  never  dreamed  of.  Her  parka,  the  hood  thrown 
back,  was  of  some  strange  fur  of  palest  silver.  The 
mukluks,  with  walrus-hide  soles,  were  composed  of 
the  silver-padded  feet  of  many  lynxes.  The  long- 
gauntleted  mittens,  the  tassels  at  the  knees,  all  the 
varied  furs  of  the  costume,  were  pale  silver  that 
shimmered  in  the  frosty  light;  and  out  of  this  shim 
mering  silver,  poised  on  slender,  delicate  neck,  lifted 
her  head,  the  rosy  face  blonde  as  the  eyes  were  blue, 
the  ears  like  two  pink  shells,  the  light  chestnut  hair 
touched  with  frost-dust  and  coruscating  frost-glints. 

All  this  and  more,  as  in  a  dream,  Smoke  saw; 
then,  recollecting  himself,  his  hand  fumbled  for  his 
cap.  At  the  same  moment  the  wonder-stare  in  the 
girl's  eyes  passed  into  a  smile,  and,  with  movements 
quick  and  vital,  she  dipped  a  mitten  and  extended 
her  hand. 

"  How  do  you  do,"  she  murmured  gravely,  with  a 
queer,  delightful  accent,  her  voice,  silvery  as  the  furs 
she  wore,  coming  writh  a  shock  to  Smoke's  ears,  at 
tuned  as  they  were  to  the  harsh  voices  of  the  camp 
squaws. 

Smoke  could  only  mumble  phrases  that  were  awk 
wardly  reminiscent  of  his  best  society  manner. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  she  went  on  slowly  and 
gropingly,  her  face  a  ripple  of  smiles.  "  My  Eng 
lish  you  will  please  excuse.  It  is  not  good.  I  am 
English  like  you,"  she  gravely  assured  him.  "  My 
father  he  is  Scotch.  My  mother  she  is  dead.  She  is 
French,  and  English,  and  a  little  Indian,  too.  Her 
father  was  a  great  man  in  the  Hudson  Bay  Company. 


338  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Brrr!  It  is  cold/'  She  slipped  on  her  mitten  and 
rubbed  her  ears,  the  pink  of  which  had  already  turned 
to  white.  "  Let  us  go  to  the  fire  and  talk.  My  name 
is  Labiskwee.  What  is  your  name?" 

And  so  Smoke  came  to  know  Labiskwee,  the 
daughter  of  Snass,  whom  Snass  called  Margaret. 

"  Snass  is  not  my  father's  name,"  she  informed 
Smoke.  "  Snass  is  only  an  Indian  name." 

Much  Smoke  learned  that  day,  and  in  the  days 
that  followed,  as  the  hunting-camp  moved  on  in  the 
trail  of  the  caribou.  These  were  real  wild  Indians 
- —  the  ones  Anton  had  encountered  and  escaped  from 
long  years  before.  This  was  nearly  the  western  limit 
of  their  territory,  and  in  the  summer  they  ranged 
north  to  the  tundra  shores  of  the  Arctic,  and  east 
ward  as  far  as  the  Luskwa.  What  river  the  Luskwa 
was  Smoke  could  not  make  out,  nor  could  Labisk 
wee  tell  him,  nor  could  McCan.  On  occasion  Snass, 
with  parties  of  strong  hunters,  pushed  east  across 
the  Rockies,  on  past  the  lakes  and  the  Mackenzie 
and  into  the  Barrens.  It  was  on  the  last  traverse  in 
that  direction  that  the  silk  tent  occupied  by  Labiskwee 
had  been  found. 

"It  belonged  to  the  Millicent-Adbury  expedition, " 
Snass  told  Smoke.  f 

"  Oh !  I  remember.  They  went  after  musk-oxen. 
The  rescue  expedition  never  found  a  trace  of  them.  " 

"  I  found  them,"  Snass  said.  "  But  both  were 
dead." 

"  The  world  still  does  n't  know.  The  word  never 
got  out." 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  339 

"  The  word  never  gets  out/'  Snass  assured  him 
pleasantly. 

"  You  mean  if  they  had  been  alive  when  you  found 
them—  ?" 

Snass  nodded.  "  They  would  have  lived  on  with 
me  and  my  people." 

"  Anton  got  out,"  Smoke  challenged. 

"  I  do  not  remember  the  name.     How  long  ago  ?  " 

"  Fourteen  or  fifteen  years,"  Smoke  answered. 

"  So  he  pulled  through,  after  all.  Do  you  know, 
I  Ve  wondered  about  him.  We  called  him  Long 
Tooth.  He  was  a  strong  man,  a  strong  man." 

"  La  Perle  came  through  here  ten  years  ago." 

Snass  shook  his  head. 

"  He  found  traces  of  your  camps.  It  was  summer 
time." 

"  That  explains  it,"  Snass  answered.  "  We  are 
hundreds  of  miles  to  the  north  in  the  summer." 

But,  strive  as  he  would,  Smoke  could  get  no  clew 
to  Snass's  history  in  the  days  before  he  came  to  live 
in  the  northern  wilds.  Educated  he  was,  yet  in  all 
the  intervening  years  he  had  read  no  books,  no  news 
papers.  What  had  happened  in  the  world  he  knew 
not,  nor  did  he  show  desire  to  know.  He  had 
heard  of  the  miners  on  the  Yukon,  and  of  the  Klon 
dike  strike.  Gold-miners  had  never  invaded  his  ter 
ritory,  for  wrhich  he  was  glad.  But  the  outside  world 
to  him  did  not  exist.  He  tolerated  no  mention  of  it. 

Nor  could  Labiskwee  help  Smoke  with  earlier  in 
formation.  She  had  been  born  on  the  hunting- 
grounds.  Her  mother  had  lived  for  six  years  after. 


340  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Her  mother  had  been  very  beautiful  —  the  only  white 
woman  Labiskwee  had  ever  seen.  She  said  this  wist 
fully,  and  wistfully,  in  a  thousand  ways,  she  showed 
that  she  knew  of  the  great  outside  world  on  which 
her  father  had  closed  the  door.  But  this  knowledge 
was  secret.  She  had  early  learned  that  mention  of  it 
threw  her  father  into  a  rage. 

Anton  had  told  a  squaw  of  her  mother,  and  that 
her  mother  had  been  a  daughter  of  a  high  official 
in  the  Hudson  Bay  Company.  Later,  the  squaw  had 
told  Labiskwee.  But  her  mother's  name  she  had 
never  learned. 

As  a  source  of  information,  Danny  McCan  was  im 
possible.  He  did  not  like  adventure.  Wild  life  was 
a  horror,  and  he  had  had  nine  years  of  it.  Shanghaied 
in  San  Francisco,  he  had  deserted  the  whaleship  at 
Point  Barrow  with  three  companions.  Two  had 
died,  and  the  third  had  abandoned  him  on  the 
terrible  traverse  south.  Two  years  he  had  lived  with 
the  Eskimos  before  raising  the  courage  to  attempt  the 
south  traverse,  and  then,  within  several  days  of  a 
Hudson  Bay  Company  post,  he  had  been  gathered  in 
by  a  party  of  Snass's  young  men.  He  was  a  small, 
stupid  man,  afflicted  with  sore  eyes,  and  all  he 
dreamed  or  could  talk  about  was  getting  back  to  his 
beloved  San  Francisco  and  his  blissful  trade  of  brick 
laying. 

"  You  're  the  first  intelligent  man  we  've  had." 
Snass  complimented  Smoke  one  night  by  the  fire. 
"  Except  old  Four  Eyes.  The  Indians  named 
him  so.  He  wore  glasses  and  was  short-sighted. 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  341 

He  was  a  professor  of  zoology."  (Smoke  noted  the 
correctness  of  the  pronunciation  of  the  word.)  "  He 
died  a  year  ago.  My  young  men  picked  him  up 
strayed  from  an  expedition  on  the  upper  Porcupine. 
He  was  intelligent,  yes ;  but  he  was  also  a  fool.  That 
was  his  weakness  —  straying.  He  knew  geology, 
though,  and  working  in  metals.  Over  on  the  Luskwa, 
where  there  's  coal,  we  have  several  creditable  hand- 
forges  he  made.  He  repaired  our  guns  and  taught 
the  young  men  how.  He  died  last  year,  and  we  really 
missed  him.  Strayed  —  that 's  how  it  happened  — 
froze  to  death  within  a  mile  of  camp." 

It  was  on  the  same  night  that  Snass  said  to  Smoke : 

"  You  'd  better  pick  out  a  wife  and  have  a  fire  of 
your  own.  You  will  be  more  comfortable  than  with 
those  young  bucks.  The  maidens'  fires  —  a  sort  of 
feast  of  the  virgins,  you  know  —  are  not  lighted  until 
full  summer  and  the  salmon,  but  I  can  give  orders 
earlier  if  you  say  the  word." 

Smoke  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Remember,"  Snass  concluded  quietly,  "  Anton  is 
the  only  one  that  ever  got  away.  He  was  lucky,  un 
usually  lucky." 

Her  father  had  a  will  of  iron,  Labiskwee  told 
Smoke. 

"  Four  Eyes  used  to  call  him  the  Frozen  Pirate  — 
whatever  that  means  —  the  Tyrant  of  the  Frost,  the 
Cave  Bear,  the  Beast  Primitive,  the  King  of  the  Cari 
bou,  the  Bearded  Pard,  and  lots  of  such  things.  Four 
Eyes  loved  words  like  these.  He  taught  me  most  of 
my  English.  He  was  always  making  fun.  You 


342  SMOKE  BELLEW 

could  never  tell.  He  called  me  his  cheetah-chum  af 
ter  times  when  I  was  angry.  What  is  cheetah  ?  He 
always  teased  me  with  it." 

She  chattered  on  with  all  the  eager  naivete  of  a 
child,  which  Smoke  found  hard  to  reconcile  with  the 
full  womanhood  of  her  form  and  face. 

Yes,  her  father  was  very  firm.  Everybody  feared 
him.  He  was  terrible  when  angry.  There  were  the 
Porcupines.  It  was  through  them,  and  through  the 
Luskwas,  that  Snass  traded  his  skins  at  the  posts  and 
got  his  supplies  of  ammunition  and  tobacco.  He  was 
always  fair,  but  the  chief  of  the  Porcupines  began 
to  cheat.  And  after  Snass  had  warned  him  twice, 
he  burned  his  log  village,  and  over  a  dozen  of  the 
Porcupines  were  killed  in  the  fight.  But  there  was 
no  more  cheating.  Once,  when  she  was  a  little  girl, 
there  was  one  white  man  killed  while  trying  to  es 
cape.  No,  her  father  did  not  do  it,  but  he  gave  the 
order  to  the  young  men.  No  Indian  ever  disobeyed 
her  father. 

And  the  more  Smoke  learned  from  her,  the  more 
the  mystery  of  Snass  deepened. 

"  And  tell  me  if  it  is  true,"  the  girl  was  saying, 
"  that  there  was  a  man  and  a  woman  whose  names 
were  Paolo  and  Francesca  and  who  greatly  loved  each 
other?" 

Smoke  nodded. 

"  Four  Eyes  told  me  all  about  it,"  she  beamed  hap 
pily.  "  And  so  he  did  n't  make  it  up,  after  all.  You 
see,  I  was  n't  sure.  I  asked  father,  but,  oh,  he  was 
angry.  The  Indians  told  me  he  gave  poor  Four  Eyes 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  343 

an  awful  talking  to.,  Then  there  were  Tristan  and 
Iseult  —  two  Iseults.  It  was  very  sad.  But  I 
should  like  to  love  that  way.  Do  all  the  young  men 
and  women  in  the  world  do  that?  They  don't  here. 
They  just  get  married.  They  don't  seem  to  have 
time.  I  am  English,  and  I  will  never  marry  an  In 
dian  —  would  you  ?  That  is  why  I  have  not  lighted 
my  maiden's  fire.  Some  of  the  young  men  are  both 
ering  father  to  make  me  do  it.  Libash  is  one  of 
them.  He  is  a  great  hunter.  And  Mahkook  comes 
around  singing  songs.  He  is  funny.  To-night,  if 
you  come  by  my  tent  after  dark,  you  will  hear  him 
singing  out  in  the  cold.  But  father  says  I  can  do  as 
I  please,  and  so  I  shall  not  light  my  fire.  You  see, 
when  a  girl  makes  up  her  mind  to  get  married,  that  is 
the  way  she  lets  young  men  know.  Four  Eyes 
always  said  it  was  a  fine  custom.  But  I  noticed  he 
never  took  a  wife.  Maybe  he  was  too  old.  He 
did  n't  have  much  hair,  but  I  don't  think  he  was  really 
very  old.  And  how  do  you  know  when  you  are  in 
love?  —  like  Paolo  and  Francesca,  I  mean." 

Smoke  was  disconcerted  by  the  clear  gaze  of  her 
blue  eyes.  "  Why,  they  say,"  he  stammered,  "  those 
who  are  in  love  say  it,  that  love  is  dearer  than  life. 
When  one  finds  out  that  he  or  she  likes  somebody 
better  than  everybody  else  in  the  world  —  why,  then, 
they  know  they  are  in  love.  That 's  the  way  it  goes, 
but  it 's  awfully  hard  to  explain.  You  just  know  it, 
that 's  all." 

She  looked  off  across  the  camp-smoke,  sighed,  and 
resumed  work  on  the  fur  mitten  she  was  sewing. 


344  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Well,"  she  announced  with  finality,  "  I  shall  never 
get  married  anyway." 

"  Once  we  hit  out  we  '11  sure  have  some  tall  run 
ning"  Shorty  said  dismally. 

"  The  place  is  a  big  trap,"  Smoke  agreed. 

From  the  crest  of  a  bald  knob  they  gazed  out  over 
Snass's  snowy  domain.  East,  west,  and  south  they 
were  hemmed  in  by  the  high  peaks  and  jumbled 
ranges.  Northward,  the  rolling  country  seemed  in 
terminable;  yet  they  knew,  even  in  that  direction, 
that  half  a  dozen  transverse  chains  blocked  the  way. 

"  At  this  time  of  the  year  I  could  give  you  three 
days'  start,"  Snass  told  Smoke  that  evening.  "  You 
can't  hide  your  trail,  you  see.  Anton  got  away  when 
the  snow  was  gone.  My  young  men  can  travel  as 
fast  as  the  best  white  man;  and,  besides,  you  would 
be  breaking  trail  for  them.  And  when  the  snow  is 
off  the  ground,  I  '11  see  to  it  that  you  don't  get  the 
chance  Anton  had.  It 's  a  good  life.  And  soon  the 
world  fades.  I  have  never  quite  got  over  the  sur 
prise  of  finding  how  easy  it  is  to  get  along  without  the 
world." 

"  What  's  eatin'  me  is  Danny  McCan,"  Shorty  con 
fided  to  Smoke.  "  He  's  a  weak  brother  on  any  trail. 
But  he  swears  he  knows  the  way  out  to  the  westward, 
an'  so  we  got  to  put  up  with  him,  Smoke,  or  you  sure 
get  yours." 

"  We  're  all  in  the  same  boat,"  Smoke  answered. 

"  Not  on  your  life.  It 's  a-comin'  to  you  straight 
down  the  pike." 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  345 

"What  is?" 

"You  ain't  heard  the  news?'" 

Smoke  shook  his  head. 

"  The  bachelors  told  me.  They  just  got  the  word. 
To-night  it  comes  off,  though  it 's  months  ahead  of 
the  calendar." 

Smoke  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Ain't  interested  in  hearin'  ?  "  Shorty  teased. 

"  I  'm  waiting  to  hear." 

"Well,  Danny's  wife  just  told  the  bachelors," 
Shorty  paused  impressively.  "  An'  the  bachelors  told 
me,  of  course,  that  the  maidens'  fires  is  due  to  be 
lighted  to-night.  That 's  all.  Now  how  do  you  like 
it?" 

"  I  don't  get  your  drift,  Shorty." 

"  Don't,  eh  ?  Why,  it 's  plain  open  and  shut. 
They  's  a  skirt  after  you,  an'  that  skirt  is  goin'  to 
light  a  fire,  an'  that  skirt's  name  is  Labiskwee.  Oh, 
I  've  been  watchin'  her  watch  you  when  you  ain't 
lookin'.  She  ain't  never  lighted  her  fire.  Said  she 
would  n't  marry  a  Indian.  An'  now,  when  she  lights 
her  fire,  it 's  a  cinch  it 's  my  poor  old  friend  Smoke." 

"  It  sounds  like  a  syllogism,"  Smoke  said,  with  a 
sinking  heart  reviewing  Labiskwee's  actions  of  the 
past  several  days. 

"  Cinch  is  shorter  to  pronounce,"  Shorty  returned. 
"  An'  that 's  always  the  way  —  just  as  we  're  workin' 
up  our  get-away,  along  comes  a  skirt  to  complicate 
everything.  We  ain't  got  no  luck.  Hey!  Listen 
to  that,  Smoke!" 

Three  ancient  squaws  had  halted  midway  between 


346  SMOKE  BELLEW 

the  bachelors'  camp  and  the  camp  of  McCan,  and  the 
oldest  was  declaiming  in  shrill  falsetto. 

Smoke  recognized  the  names,  but  not  all  the  words, 
and  Shorty  translated  with  melancholy  glee. 

"  Labiskwee,  the  daughter  of  Snass,  the  Rain 
maker,  the  Great  Chief,  lights  her  first  maiden's  fire 
to-night.  Maka,  the  daughter  of  Owits,  the  Wolf- 
Runner  —  " 

The  recital  ran  through  the  names  of  a  dozen  maid 
ens,  and  then  the  three  heralds  tottered  on  their  way 
to  make  announcement  at  the  next  fires. 

The  bachelors,  who  had  sworn  youthful  oaths  to 
speak  to  no  maidens,  were  uninterested  in  the  ap 
proaching  ceremony,  and  to  show  their  disdain  they 
made  preparations  for  immediate  departure  on  a  mis 
sion  set  them  by  Snass  and  upon  which  they  had 
planned  to  start  the  following  morning.  Not  satis 
fied  with  the  old  hunters'  estimates  of  the  caribou, 
Snass  had  decided  that  the  run  was  split.  The  task 
set  the  bachelors  was  to  scout  to  the  north  and  west 
in  quest  of  the  second  division  of  the  great  herd. 

Smoke,  troubled  by  Labiskwee's  fire-lighting,  an 
nounced  that  he  would  accompany  the  bachelors.  But 
first  he  talked  with  Shorty  and  with  McCan. 

"  You  be  there  on  the  third  day,  Smoke,"  Shorty 
said.  "  We  '11  have  the  outfit  an'  the  dogs." 

"  But  remember,"  Smoke  cautioned,  "  if  there  is  any 
slip-up  in  meeting  me,  you  keep  on  going  and  get  out 
to  the  Yukon.  That 's  flat.  If  you  make  it,  you  can 
come  back  for  me  in  the  summer.  If  I  get  the  chance, 
I  '11  make  it,  and  come  back  for  you." 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  347 

McCan,  standing  by  his  fire,  indicated  with  his  eyes 
a  rugged  mountain  where  the  high  western  range  out- 
jutted  on  the  open  country. 

"  That 's  the  one,"  he  said.  "  A  small  stream  on 
the  south  side.  We  go  up  it.  On  the  third  day  you 
meet  us.  We'll  pass  by  on  the  third  day.  Any 
where  you  tap  that  stream  you  '11  meet  us  or  our  trail." 

But  the  chance  did  not  come  to  Smoke  on  the  third 
day.  The  bachelors  had  changed  the  direction  of 
their  scout,  and  while  Shorty  and  McCan  plodded  up 
the  stream  with  their  dogs,  Smoke  and  the  bachelors 
were  sixty  miles  to  the  northeast  picking  up  the  trail 
of  the  second  caribou  herd.  Several  days  later, 
through  a  dim  twilight  of  falling  snow,  they  came 
back  to  the  big  camp.  A  squaw  ceased  from  wailing 
by  a  fire  and  darted  up  to  Smoke.  Harsh  tongued, 
with  bitter,  venomous  eyes,  she  cursed  him,  waving 
her  arms  toward  a  silent,  fur-wrapped  form  that  still 
lay  on  the  sled  which  had  hauled  it  in. 

\Vhat  had  happened,  Smoke  could  only  guess,  and 
as  he  came  to  McCan's  fire  he  was  prepared  for  a  sec 
ond  cursing.  Instead,  he  saw  McCan  himself  in 
dustriously  chewing  a  strip  of  caribou  meat. 

"  I  'm  not  a  fightin'  man,"  he  whiningly  explained. 
"  But  Shorty  got  away,  though  they  're  still  after  him. 
He  put  up  a  hell  of  a  fight.  They  '11  get  him,  too.  He 
ain't  got  a  chance.  He  plugged  two  bucks  that  '11 
get  around  all  right.  An'  he  croaked  one  square 
through  the  chest." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  Smoke  answered.  "  I  just  met 
the  widow." 


348  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Old  Snass  '11  be  wantin'  to  see  you,"  McCan 
added.  "  Them  's  his  orders.  Soon  as  you  come  in 
you  was  to  go  to  his  fire.  I  ain't  squealed.  You 
don't  know  nothing.  Keep  that  in  mind.  Shorty 
went  off  on  his  own  along  with  me." 

At  Snass's  fire  Smoke  found  Labiskwee.  She  met 
him  with  eyes  that  shone  with  such  softness  and  ten 
derness  as  to  frighten  him. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  did  n't  try  to  run  away,"  she  said. 
"  You  see,  I  —  "  She  hesitated,  but  her  eyes  did  n't 
drop.  They  swam  with  a  light  unmistakable.  "  I 
lighted  my  fire,  and  of  course  it  was  for  you.  It  has 
happened.  I  like  you  better  than  everybody  else  in  the 
world.  Better  than  my  father.  Better  than  a  thou 
sand  Libashes  and  Mahkooks.  I  love.  It  is  very 
strange.  I  love  as  Francesca  loved,  as  Iseult  loved. 
Old  Four  Eyes  spoke  true.  Indians  do  not  love  this 
way.  But  my  eyes  are  blue,  and  I  am  white.  We 
are  white,  you  and  I." 

Smoke  had  never  been  proposed  to  in  his  life,  and 
he  was  unable  to  meet  the  situation.  Worse,  it  was 
not  even  a  proposal.  His  acceptance  was  taken  for 
granted.  So  thoroughly  was  it  all  arranged  in  Labis- 
kwee's  mind,  so  warm  was  the  light  in  her  eyes,  that 
he  was  amazed  that  she  did  not  throw  her  arms 
around  him  and  rest  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  Then 
he  realized,  despite  her  candor  of  love,  that  she  did 
not  know  the  pretty  ways  of  love.  Among  the  primi 
tive  savages  such  ways  did  not  obtain.  She  had  had 
no  chance  to  learn. 

She  prattled  on,  chanting  the  happy  burden  of  her 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  349 

love,  while  he  strove  to  grip  himself  in  the  effort, 
somehow,  to  wound  her  with  the  truth.  This,  at  the 
very  first,  was  the  golden  opportunity. 

"  But,  Labiskwee,  listen,"  he  began.  "  Are  you 
sure  you  learned  from  Four  Eyes  all  the  story  of  the 
love  of  Paolo  and  Francesca?  " 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  laughed  with  an  im 
mense  certitude  of  gladness.  "  Oh!  There  is  more! 
I  knew  there  must  be  more  and  more  of  love !  I  have 
thought  much  since  I  lighted  my  fire.  I  have  —  " 

And  .then  Snass  strode  in  to  the  fire  through  the 
falling  snowflakes,  and  Smoke's  opportunity  was  lost. 

"  Good  evening,"  Snass  burred  gruffly.  "  Your 
partner  has  made  a  mess  of  it.  I  am  glad  you  had 
better  sense." 

"  You  might  tell  me  what 's  happened,"  Smoke 
urged. 

The  flash  of  white  teeth  through  the  stained  beard 
was  not  pleasant.  "  Certainly,  I  '11  tell  you.  Your 
partner  has  killed  one  of  my  people.  That  sniveling 
shrimp,  McCan,  deserted  at  the  first  shot.  He  '11 
never  run  away  again.  But  my  hunters  have  got 
your  partner  in  the  mountains,  and  they  '11  get  him. 
He  '11  never  make  the  Yukon  basin.  As  for  you, 
from  now  on  you  sleep  at  my  fire.  And  there  '11  be 
no  more  scouting  with  the  young  men,  I  shall  have 
my  eye  on  you." 

Smoke's  new  situation  at  Snass's  fire  was  embar 
rassing.  He  saw  more  of  Labiskwee  than  ever.  In 
its  sweetness  and  innocence,  the  frankness  of  her  love 
was  terrible.  Her  glances  were  love  glances;  every 


350  SMOKE  BELLEW 

look  was  a  caress.  A  score  of  times  he  nerved  him 
self  to  tell  her  of  Joy  Gastell,  and  a  score  of  times  he 
discovered  that  he  was  a  coward.  The  damnable  part 
of  it  was  that  Labiskwee  was  so  delightful.  She  was 
good  to  look  upon.  Despite  the  hurt  to  his  self-es 
teem  of  every  moment  spent  with  her,  he  pleasured 
in  every  such  moment.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  was  really  learning  woman,  and  so  clear  was  La- 
biskwee's  soul,  so  appalling  in  its  innocence  and  igno 
rance,  that  he  could  not  misread  a  line  of  it.  All  the 
pristine  goodness  of  her  sex  was  in  her,  uncultured  by 
the  conventionality  of  knowledge  or  the  deceit  of  self- 
protection.  In  memory  he  reread  his  Schopenhauer 
and  knew  beyond  all  cavil  that  the  sad  philosopher 
was  wrong.  To  know  woman,  as  Smoke  came  to 
know  Labiskwee,  was  to  know  that  all  woman-haters 
were  sick  men. 

Labiskwee  was  wonderful,  and  yet,  beside  her  face 
in  the  flesh  burned  the  vision  of  the  face  of  Joy  Gas- 
tell.  Joy  had  control,  restraint,  all  the  feminine  in 
hibitions  of  civilization,  yet,  by  the  trick  of  his  fancy 
and  the  living  preachment  of  the  woman  before  him, 
Joy  Gastell  was  stripped  to  a  goodness  at  par  with 
Labiskwee's.  The  one  but  appreciated  the  other,  and 
all  women  of  all  the  world  appreciated  by  what  Smoke 
saw  in  the  soul  of  Labiskwee  at  Snass's  fire  in  the 
snow-land. 

And  Smoke  learned  about  himself.  He  remem 
bered  back  to  all  he  knew  of  Joy  Gastell,  and  he  knew 
that  he  loved  her.  Yet  he  delighted  in  Labiskwee. 
And  what  was  this  feeling  of  delight  but  love?  He 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  351 

could  demean  it  by  no  less  a  name.  Love  it  was. 
Love  it  must  be.  And  he  was  shocked  to  the  roots  of 
his  soul  by  the  discovery  of  this  polygamous  strain 
in  his  nature.  He  had  heard  it  argued,  in  the  San 
Francisco  studios,  that  it  was  possible  for  a  man  to 
love  two  women,  or  even  three  women,  at  a  time. 
But  he  had  not  believed  it.  How  could  he  believe  it 
when  he  had  not  had  the  experience?  Now  it  was 
different.  He  did  truly  love  two  women,  and  though 
most  of  the  time  he  was  quite  convinced  that  he  loved 
Joy  Gastell  more,  there  were  other  moments  when 
he  felt  with  equal  certainty  that  he  loved  Labiskwee 
more. 

"  There  must  be  many  women  in  the  world,"  she 
said  one  day.  "  And  women  like  men.  Many  wo 
men  must  have  liked  you.  Tell  me." 

He  did  not  reply. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  insisted. 

"  I  have  never  married,"  he  evaded. 

"And  there  is  no  one  else?  No  other  Iseult  out 
there  beyond  the  mountains  ?  " 

Then  it  was  that  Smoke  knew  himself  a  coward. 
He  lied.  Reluctantly  he  did  it,  but  he  lied.  He  shook 
his  head  with  a  slow  indulgent  smile,  and  in  his  face 
was  more  of  fondness  than  he  dreamed  as  he  noted 
Labiskwee's  swift  joy-transfiguration. 

He  excused  himself  to  himself.  His  reasoning 
wras  Jesuitical  beyond  dispute,  and  yet  he  was  not 
Spartan  enough  to  strike  this  child-woman  a  quiver 
ing  heart-stroke. 

Snass,  too,  was  a  perturbing  factor  in  the  problem. 


352  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Little  escaped  his  keen  black  eyes,  and  he  spoke  sig 
nificantly. 

"  No  man  cares  to  see  his  daughter  married,"  he 
said  to  Smoke.  "  At  least,  no  man  of  imagination. 
It  hurts.  The  thought  of  it  hurts,  I  tell  you.  Just 
the  same,  in  the  natural  order  of  life,  Margaret  must 
marry  some  time." 

A  pause  fell,  and  Smoke  caught  himself  wonder 
ing  for  the  thousandth  time  what  Snass's  history  must 
be. 

"  I  am  a  harsh,  cruel  man,"  Snass  went  on.  "  Yet 
the  law  is  the  law,  and  I  am  just.  Nay,  here  with  this 
primitive  people,  I  am  the  law  and  the  justice.  Be 
yond  my  will  no  man  goes.  Also,  I  am  a  father,  and 
all  my  days  I  have  been  cursed  with  imagination." 

Whither  his  monologue  tended,  Smoke  did  not 
learn,  for  it  was  interrupted  by  a  burst  of  chiding 
and  silvery  laughter  from  Labiskwee's  tent,  where 
she  played  with  a  new-caught  wolf-cub.  A  spasm  of 
pain  twitched  Snass's  face. 

"  I  can  stand  it,"  he  muttered  grimly.  "  Margaret 
must  be  married,  and  it  is  my  fortune,  and  hers,  that 
you  are  here.  I  had  little  hopes  of  Four  Eyes. 
McCan  was  so  hopeless  I  turned  him  over  to  a  squaw 
who  had  lighted  her  fire  twenty  seasons.  If  it  had  n't 
been  you,  it  would  have  been  an  Indian.  Libash 
might  have  become  the  father  of  my  grandchildren." 

And  then  Labiskwee  came  from  her  tent  to  the  fire, 
the  wolf-cub  in  her  arms,  drawn  as  by  a  magnet,  to 
gaze  upon  the  man,  in  her  eyes  the  love  that  art  had 
never  taught  to  hide. 


And  there  is  no  one  else?    No  other  Iseult  out  there 
beyond  the  mountains?" 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  355 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  McCan.  "  The  spring  thaw 
ie  here,  an'  the  crust  is  comin'  on  the  snow. 
It 's  the  time  to  travel,  exceptin'  for  the  spring 
blizzards  in  the  mountains.  I  know  them.  I  would 
run  with  no  less  a  man  than  you." 

"  But  you  can't  run,"  Smoke  contradicted. 
'  You  can  keep  up  with  no  man.  Your  backbone  is 
limber  as  thawed  marrow.  If  I  run,  I  run  alone. 
The  world  fades,  and  perhaps  I  shall  never  run. 
Caribou  meat  is  very  good,  and  soon  will  come  sum 
mer  and  the  salmon." 

Said  Snass :  *  Your  partner  is  dead.  My  hunters 
did  not  kill  him.  They  found  the  body,  frozen  in  the 
first  of  the  spring  storms  in  the  mountains.  No  man 
can  escape.  When  shall  we  celebrate  your  mar 
riage?" 

And  Labiskwee :  "  I  watch  you.  There  is  trouble 
in  your  eyes,  in  your  face.  Oh,  I  do  know  all  your 
face.  There  is  a  little  scar  on  your  neck,  just  under 
the  ear.  When  you  are  happy,  the  corners  of  your 
mouth  turn  up.  When  you  think  sad  thoughts  they 
turn  down.  When  you  smile  there  are  three  and  -four 
wrinkles  at  the  corners  of  your  eyes.  When  you 
laugh  there  are  six.  Sometimes  I  have  almost 
counted  seven.  But  I  cannot  count  them  now.  I 
have  never  read  books.  I  do  not  know  how  to  read. 
But  Four  Eyes  taught  me  much.  My  grammar  is 
good.  He  taught  me.  And  in  his  own  eyes  I  have 
seen  the  trouble  of  the  hunger  for  the  world.  K-c 
was  often  hungry  for  the  world.  Yet  here  was  good 
meat,  and  fish  in  plenty,  and  the  berries  and  the  roots, 


356  SMOKE  BELLEW 

and  often  flour  came  back  for  the  furs  through  the 
Porcupines  and  the  Luskwas.  Yet  was  he  hungry 
for  the  world.  Is  the  world  so  good  that  you,  too, 
are  hungry  for  it?  Four  Eyes  had  nothing.  But 
you  have  me."  She  sighed  and  shook  her  head. 
"  Four  Eyes  died  still  hungry  for  the  world.  And 
if  you  lived  here  always  would  you,  too,  die  hungry 
•for  the  world?  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  know  the  world. 
Do  you  want  to  run  away  to  the  world  ?  " 

Smoke  could  not  speak,  but  by  his  mouth-comer 
lines  was  she  convinced. 

Minutes  of  silence  passed,  in  which  she  visibly 
struggled,  while  Smoke  cursed  himself  for  the  un- 
guessed  weakness  that  enabled  him  to  speak  the  truth 
about  his  hunger  for  the  world  while  it  kept  his 
lips  tight  on  the  truth  of  the  existence  of  the 
other  woman.  i 

Again  Labiskwee  sighed. 

"  Very  well.  I  love  you  more  than  I  fear  my  fath 
er's  anger,  and  he  is  more  terrible  in  anger  than  a 
mountain  storm.  You  told  me  what  love  is.  This  is 
the  test  of  love.  I  shall  help  you  to  run  away  back 
to  the  world." 

Smoke  awakened  softly  and  without  movement. 
Warm  small  fingers  touched  his  cheek  and  slid  gently 
to  a  pressure  on  his  lips.  Fur,  with  the  chill  of  frost 
clinging  in  it,  next  tingled  his  skin,  and  the  one  word, 
"  Come/'  was  breathed  in  his  ear.  He  sat  up  care 
fully  and  listened.  The  hundreds  of  wolf-dogs  in 
the  camp  had  lifted  their  nocturnal  song,  but  under 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  357 

the  volume  of  it,  close  at  hand,  he  could  distinguish 
the  light,  regular  breathing  of  Snass. 

Labiskwee  tugged  gently  at  Smoke's  sleeve,  and  he 
knew  she  wished  him  to  follow.  He  took  his  mocca 
sins  and  German  socks  in  his  hand  and  crept  out  into 
the  snow  in  his  sleeping  moccasins.  Beyond  the  glow 
from  the  dying  embers  of  the  fire,  she  indicated  to 
him  to  put  on  his  outer  foot-gear,  and  while  he 
obeyed,  she  went  back  under  the  fly  where  Snass 
slept. 

Feeling  the  hands  of  his  watch  Smoke  found  it 
was  one  in  the  morning.  Quite  warm  it  was,  he  de 
cided,  not  more  than  ten  below  zero.  Labiskwee  re 
joined  him  and  led  him  on  through  the  dark  runways 
of  the  sleeping  camp.  Walk  lightly  as  they  could, 
the  frost  crunched  crisply  under  their  moccasins,  but 
the  sound  was  drowned  by  the  clamor  of  the  dogs, 
too  deep  in  their  howling  to  snarl  at  the  man  and 
woman  who  passed. 

"  Now  we  can  talk,"  she  said,  when  the  last  fire 
had  been  left  half  a  mile  behind. 

And  now,  in  the  starlight,  facing  him,  Smoke  noted 
for  the  first  time  that  her  arms  were  burdened, 
and,  on  feeling,  discovered  she  carried  his  snowshoes, 
a  rifle,  two  belts  of  ammunition,  and  his  sleeping- 
robes. 

"  I  have  everything  fixed,"  she  said,  with  a  happy 
little  laugh.  "  I  have  been  two  days  making  the 
cache.  There  is  meat,  even  flour,  matches,  and 
skees,  which  go  best  on  the  hard  crust  and,  when  they 
break  through,  the  webs  will  hold  up  longer.  Oh, 


358  SMOKE  BELLEW 

I  do  know  snow-travel,  and  we  shall  go  fast,  my 
lover." 

Smoke  checked  his  speech.  That  she  had  been  ar 
ranging  his  escape  was  surprise  enough,  but  that  she 
had  planned  to  go  with  him  was  more  than  he  was 
prepared  for.  Unable  to  think  immediate  action,  he 
gently,  one  by  one,  took  her  burdens  from  her.  He 
put  his  arm  around  her  and  pressed  her  close,  and 
still  he  could  not  think  what  to  do. 

"  God  is  good,"  she  whispered.  [<  He  sent  me  a 
lover." 

Yet  Smoke  was  brave  enough  not  to  suggest  his 
going  alone.  And  before  he  spoke  again  he  saw  all 
his  memory  of  the  bright  world  and  the  sun-lands  reel 
and  fade. 

"  We  will  .go  back,  Labiskwee,"  he  said.  "  You 
will  be  my  wife,  and  we  shall  live  always  with  the 
Caribou  People." 

"  No!  no!  "  She  shook  her  head;  and  her  body,  in 
the  circle  of  his  arm,  resented  his  proposal.  "  I 
know.  I  have  thought  much.  The  hunger  for  the 
world  would  come  upon  you,  and  in  the  long  nights  it 
would  devour  your  heart.  Four  Eyes  died  of  hun 
ger  for  the  world.  So  would  you  die.  All  men 
from  the  world  hunger  for  it.  And  I  will  not  have 
you  die.  We  will  go  on  across  the  snow  mountains 
on  the  south  traverse." 

"  Dear,  listen,"  he  urged.     "  We  must  go  back." 

She  pressed  her  mitten  against  his  lips  to  prevent 
further  speech.  "  You  love  me.  Say  that  you  love 


me." 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  359 

"  I  do  love  you,  Labiskwee.  You  are  my  wonder 
ful  sweetheart." 

Again  the  mitten  was  a  caressing  obstacle  to  utter 
ance. 

"  We  shall  go  on  to  the  cache,"  she  said  with  de 
cision.  "  It  is  three  miles  from  here.  Come." 

He  held  back,  and  her  pull  on  his  arm  could  not 
move  him.  Almost  was  he  tempted  to  tell  her  of  the 
other  woman  beyond  the  south  traverse. 

"  It  would  be  a  great  wrong  to  you  to  go  back," 
she  said.  "I  — •  I  am  only  a  wild  girl,  and  I  am 
afraid  of  the  world;  but  I  am  more  afraid  for  you. 
You  see,  it  is  as  you  told  me.  I  love  you  more  than 
anybody  else  in  the  world.  I  love  you  more  than  my 
self.  The  Indian  language  is  not  a  good  language. 
The  English  language  is  not  a  good  language.  The 
thoughts  in  my  heart  for  you,  as  bright  and  as  many 
as  the  stars  —  there  is  no  language  for  them.  How 
can  I  tell  you  them  ?  They  are  there  —  see  ?  " 

As  she  .spoke  she  slipped  the  mitten  from  his  hand 
and  thrust  the  hand  inside  the  warmth  of  her  parka 
until  it  rested  against  her  heart.  Tightly  and  steadily 
she  pressed  his  hand  in  its  position.  And  in  the  long 
silence  he  felt  the  beat,  beat  of  her  heart,  and  knew 
that  every  beat  of  it  was  love.  And  then,  slowly, 
almost  imperceptibly,  still  holding  his  hand,  her  body 
began  to  incline  away  from  his  and  toward  the  direc 
tion  of  the  cache.  Nor  could  he  resist.  It  was  as  if 
he  were  drawn  by  her  heart  itself  that  so  nearly  lay  in 
the  hollow  of  his  hand. 

So  firm  was  the  crust,  frozen  during  the  night  after 


360  SMOKE  BELLEW 

the  previous  day's  surface-thaw,  that  they  slid  along 
rapidly  on  their  skees. 

"  Just  here,  in  the  trees,  is  the  cache,"  Labiskwee  told 
Smoke. 

The  next  moment  she  caught  his  arm  with  a  startle 
of  surprise.  The  flames  of  a  small  fire  were  dancing 
merrily,  and  crouched  by  the  fire  was  McCan.  Labisk 
wee  muttered  something  in  Indian,  and  so  lashlike  was 
the  sound  that  Smoke  remembered  she  had  been  called 
"  cheetah  "  by  Four  Eyes. 

"  I  was  minded  you  'd  run  without  me,"  McCan  ex 
plained  when  they  came  up,  his  small  peering  eyes  glim 
mering  with  cunning.  "  So  I  kept  an  eye  on  the  girl, 
an*  when  I  seen  her  caching  skees  an*  grub,  I  was  on. 
I  Ve  brought  my  own  skees  an*  webs  an*  grub.  The 
fire  ?  Sure,  an*  it  was  no  danger.  The  camp  's  asleep 
an*  snorin',  an*  the  waitin'  was  cold.  Will  we  be 
startin'  now?  " 

Labiskwee  looked  swift  consternation  at  Smoke,  as 
swiftly  achieved  a  judgment  on  the  matter,  and  spoke. 
And  in  the  speaking  she  showed,  child-woman  though 
she  was  in  love,  the  quick  decisiveness  of  one  who  in 
other  affairs  of  life  would  be  no  clinging  vine. 

"  McCan,  you  are  a  dog,"  she  hissed,  and  her  eyes 
were  savage  with  anger.  "  I  know  it  is  in  your  heart 
to  raise  the  camp  if  we  don't  take  you.  Very  well. 
We  must  take  you.  But  you  know  my  father.  I  am 
like  my  father.  You  will  do  your  share  of  the  work. 
You  will  obey.  And  if  you  play  one  dirty  trick,  it 
it  would  be  better  for  you  if  you  had  never  run." 

McCan  looked  up  at  her,  his  small  pig-eyes  hating 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  361 

and  cringing,  while  in  her  eyes,  turned  to  Smoke,  the 
anger  melted  into  luminous  softness. 

"  Is  it  right,  what  I  have  said?  "  she  queried. 

Daylight  found  them  in  the  belt  of  foothills  that  lay 
between  the  rolling  country  and  the  mountains.  Mc- 
Can  suggested  breakfast,  but  they  held  on.  Not  until 
the  afternoon  thaw  softened  the  crust  and  prevented 
travel  would  they  eat. 

The  foothills  quickly  grew  rugged,  and  the  stream, 
up  whose  frozen  bed  they  journeyed,  began  to  thread 
deeper  and  deeper  canyons.  The  signs  of  spring  were 
less  frequent,  though  in  one  canyon  they  found  foam 
ing  bits  of  open  water,  and  twice  they  came  upon 
clumps  of  dwarf  willow  upon  which  were  the  first 
hints  of  swelling  buds. 

Labiskwee  explained  to  Smoke  her  knowledge  of 
the  country  and  the  way  she  planned  to  baffle  pursuit. 
There  were  but  two  ways  out,  one  west,  the  other 
south.  Snass  wrould  immediately  despatch  parties  of 
young  men  to  guard  the  two  trails.  But  there  wras  an- 
y)ther  way  south.  True,  it  did  no  more  than  penetrate 
half-way  into  the  high  mountains,  then,  twisting  to 
the  west  and  crossing  three  divides,  it  joined 
the  regular  trail.  When  the  young  men  found  no 
traces  on  the  regular  trail  they  would  turn  back  in  the 
belief  that  the  escape  had  been  made  by  the  west  tra 
verse,  never  dreaming  that  the  runaways  had  ventured 
the  harder  and  longer  way  around. 

Glancing  back  at  McCan,  in  the  rear,  Labiskwee 
spoke  in  an  undertone  to  Smoke.  "  He  is  eating," 
she  said.  "  It  is  not  good." 


362  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Smoke  looked.  The  Irishman  was  secretly  munch 
ing  caribou  suet  from  the  pocketful  he  carried. 

"  No  eating  between  meals,  McCan,"  he  commanded. 
"  There 's  no  game  in  the  country  ahead,  and  the 
grub  will  have  to  be  whacked  in  equal  rations  from  the 
start.  The  only  way  you  can  travel  with  us  is  by  play 
ing  fair." 

By  one  o'clock  the  crust  had  thawed  so  that  the  skees 
broke  through,  and  before  two  o'clock  the  web-shoes 
were  breaking  through.  Camp  was  made  and  the  first 
meal  eaten.  Smoke  took  stock  of  the  food.  McCan's 
supply  was  a  disappointment.  So  many  silver  fox- 
skins  had  he  stuffed  in  the  bottom  of  the  meat  bag 
that  there  was  little  space  left  for  meat. 

"  Sure  an*  I  did  n't  know  there  was  so  many,"  he 
explained.  "  I  done  it  in  the  dark.  But  they  're 
worth  good  money.  An'  with  all  this  ammunition 
we  '11  be  gettin'  game  a-plenty." 

"  The  wolves  will  eat  you  a-plenty,"  was  Smoke's 
hopeless  comment,  while  Labiskwee's  eyes  flashed  their 
anger. 

Enough  food  for  a  month,  with  careful  husbanding 
and  appetites  that  never  blunted  their  edge,  was 
Smoke's  and  Labiskwee's  judgment.  Smoke  appor 
tioned  the  weight  and  bulk  of  the  packs,  yielding  in  the 
end  to  Labiskwee's  insistence  that  she,  too,  should 
carry  a  pack. 

Next  day  the  stream  shallowed  out  in  a  wide  moun 
tain  valley,  and  they  were  already  breaking  through 
the  crust  on  the  flats  when  they  gained  the  harder  sur 
face  of  the  slope  of  the  divide. 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  363 

"  Ten  minutes  later  and  we  would  n't  have  got  across 
the  flats,"  Smoke  said,  when  they  paused  for  breath  on 
the  bald  crest  of  the  summit.  "  We  must  be  a  thou 
sand  feet  higher  here." 

But  Labiskwee,  without  speaking,  pointed  down  to 
an  open  flat  among  the  trees.  In  the  midst  of  it,  scat 
tered  abreast,  were  five  dark  specks  that  scarcely 
moved. 

"  The  young  men,"  said  Labiskwee. 

"  They  are  wallowing  to  their  hips,"  Smoke  said. 
'  They  will  never  gain  the  hard  footing  this  day.  We 
have  hours  the  start  of  them.  Come  on,  McCan. 
Buck  up.  We  don't  eat  till  we  can't  travel." 

McCan  groaned,  but  there  was  no  caribou  suet  in 
his  pocket,  and  he  doggedly  brought  up  the  rear. 

In  the  higher  valley  in  which  they  now  found  them 
selves,  the  crust  did  not  break  till  three  in  the  after 
noon,  at  which  time  they  managed  to  gain  the  shadow 
of  mountain  where  the  crust  was  already  freezing 
again.  Once  only  they  paused  to  get  out  McCan's 
confiscated  suet,  which  they  ate  as  they  walked.  The 
meat  was  frozen  solid,  and  could  be  eaten  only  after 
thawing  over  a  fire.  But  the  suet  crumbled  in  their 
mouths  and  eased  the  palpitating  faintness  in  their 
stomachs. 

Black  darkness,  with  an  overcast  sky,  came  on  after 
a  long  twilight  at  nine  o'clock,  when  they  made  camp 
in  a  clump  of  dwarf  spruce.  McCan  was  whining  and 
helpless.  The  day's  march  had  been  exhausting,  but 
in  addition,  despite  his  nine  years'  experience  in  the 
arctic,  he  had  been  eating  snow  and  was  in  agony  with 


364  SMOKE  BELLEW 

his  parched  and  burning  mouth.  He  crouched  by  the 
fire  and  groaned,  while  they  made  the  camp. 

Labiskwee  was  tireless,  and  Smoke  could  not  but 
marvel  at  the  life  in  her  body,  at  the  endurance  of 
mind  and  muscle.  Nor  was  her  cheerfulness  forced. 
She  had  ever  a  laugh  or  a  smile  for  him,  and  her  hand 
lingered  in  caress  whenever  it  chanced  to  touch  his. 
Yet,  always,  when  she  looked  at  McCan,  her  face 
went  hard  and  pitiless  and  her  eyes  flashed  frostily. 

In  the  night  came  wind  and  snow,  and  through  a  day 
of  blizzard  they  fought  their  way  blindly,  missing  the 
turn  of  the  way  that  led  up  a  small  stream  and  crossed 
a  divide  to  the  west.  For  two  more  days  they  wan 
dered,  crossing  other  and  wrong  divides,  and  in  those 
two  days  they  dropped  spring  behind  and  climbed  up 
into  the  abode  of  winter. 

'  The  young  men  have  lost  our  trail,  an*  what 's 
to  stop  us  restin'  a  day?  "  McCan  begged. 

But  no  rest  was  accorded.  Smoke  and  Labiskwee 
fcnew  their  danger.  They  were  lost  in  the  high  moun 
tains,  and  they  had  seen  no  game  nor  signs  of  game. 
Day  after  day  they  struggled  on  through  an  iron  con 
figuration  of  landscape  that  compelled  them  to  laby 
rinthine  canyons  and  valleys  that  led  rarely  to  the  west. 
Once  in  such  a  canyon,  they  could  only  follow  it,  no 
matter  where  it  led,  for  the  cold  peaks  and  higher 
ranges  on  either  side  were  unscalable  and  unendur 
able.  The  terrible  toil  and  the  cold  ate  up  energy,  yet 
they  cut  down  the  size  of  the  ration  they  permitted 
themselves. 

One  night   Smoke  was  awakened  by  a  sound  of 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  365 

struggling.  Distinctly  he  heard  a  gasping  and  stran 
gling  from  where  McCan  slept.  Kicking -the  fire  into 
flame,  by  its  light  he  saw  Labiskwee,  her  hands  at  the 
Irishman's  throat  and  forcing  from  his  mouth  a  chunk 
of  partly  chewed  meat.  Even  as  Smoke  saw  this,  her 
hand  went  to  her  hip  and  flashed  with  the  sheath-knife 
in  it. 

"  Labiskwee !  "  Smoke  cried,  and  his  voice  was  per 
emptory. 

The  hand  hesitated. 

"  Don't,"  he  said,  coming  to  her  side. 

She  was  shaking  with  anger,  but  the  hand,  after  hesi 
tating  a  moment  longer,  descended  reluctantly  to  the 
sheath.  As  if  fearing  she  could  not  restrain  herself, 
she  crossed  to  the  fire  and  threw  on  more  wood.  Mc 
Can  sat  up,  whimpering  and  snarling,  between  fright 
and  rage  spluttering  an  inarticulate  explanation. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it?  "  Smoke  demanded. 

"  Feel  around  his  body,"  Labiskwee  said. 

It  was  the  first  word  she  had  spoken,  and  her 
quivered  with  the  anger  she  could  not  suppress. 

McCan  strove  to  struggle,  but  Smoke  gripped  him 
cruelly  and  searched  him,  drawing  forth  from  under 
his  armpit,  where  it  had  been  thawed  by  the  heat  of 
his  body,  a  strip  of  caribou  meat.  A  quick  exclama 
tion  from  Labiskwee  drew  Smoke's  attention.  She 
had  sprung  to  McCan's  pack  and  was  opening  it.  In 
stead  of  meat,  out  poured  moss,  spruce-needles,  chips 
—  all  the  light  refuse  that  had  taken  the  place  of  the 
meat  and  given  the  pack  its  due  proportion  minus  its 
weight. 


366  SMOKE  BELLEW 

Again  Labiskwee's  hand  went  to  her  hip,  and  she 
flew  at  the  culprit  only  to  be  caught  in  Smoke's  arms, 
where  she  surrendered  herself,  sobbing  with  the  fu 
tility  of  her  rage. 

"  Oh,  lover,  it  is  not  the  food,"  she  panted.  "  It  is 
you,  your  life.  The  dog  !  He  is  eating  you,  he  is 
eating  you !  " 

"  We  will  yet  live,"  Smoke  comforted  her.  "  Here 
after  he  shall  carry  the  flour.  He  can't  eat  that  raw, 
and  if  he  does  I  '11  kill  him  myself,  for  he  will  be  eat 
ing  your  life  as  well  as  mine."  He  held  her  closer. 
"  Sweetheart,  killing  is  men's  work.  Women  do  not 
kill." 

"  You  would  not  love  me  if  I  killed  the  dog?  "  she 
questioned  in  surprise. 

"  Not  so  much,"  Smoke  temporized. 

She  sighed  with  resignation.  "  Very  well,"  she 
said.  "  I  shall  not  kill  him." 

The  pursuit  by  the  young  men  was  relentless.  By 
miracles  of  luck,  as  well  as  by  deduction  from  the  to 
pography  of  the  way  the  runaways  must  take,  the 
young  men  picked  up  the  blizzard-blinded  trail  and 
clung  to  it.  \Vhen  the  snow  flew,  Smoke  and  Labisk- 
wee  took  the  most  improbable  courses,  turning  east 
when  the  better  way  opened  south  or  west,  rejecting  a 
low  divide  to  climb  a  higher.  Being  lost,  it  did  not 
matter.  Yet  they  could  not  throw  the  young  men  off. 
Sometimes  they  gained  days,  but  always  the  young  men 
appeared  again.  After  a  storm,  when  all  trace  was 
lost,  they  would  cast  out  like  a  pack  of  hounds,  and  he 


WOXDER  OF  WOMAN  367 

who  caught  the  later  trace  made  smoke  signals  to  call 
his  comrades  on. 

Smoke  lost  count  of  time,  of  days  and  nights  and 
storms  and  camps.  Through  a  vast  mad  phantasma 
goria  of  suffering  and  toil  he  and  Labiskwee  struggled 
on,  with  McCan  somehow  stumbling  along  in  the  rear, 
babbling  of  San  Francisco,  his  everlasting  dream. 
Great  peaks,  pitiless  and  serene  in  the  chill  blue, 
towered  about  them.  They  fled  down  black  canyons 
with  walls  so  precipitous  that  the  rock  frowned  naked, 
or  wallowed  across  glacial  valleys  where  frozen  lakes 
lay  far  beneath  their  feet.  And  one  night,  between 
two  storms,  a  distant  volcano  glared  the  sky.  They 
never  saw  it  again,  and  wondered  whether  it  had  been 
a  dream. 

Crusts  were  covered  with  yards  of  new  snow,  that 
crusted  and  were  snow-covered  again.  There  were 
places,  in  canyon-  and  pocket-drifts,  where  they 
crossed  snow  hundreds  of  feet  deep,  and  they  crossed 
tiny  glaciers,  in  drafty  rifts,  wind-scurried  and  bare  of 
any  snow.  They  crept  like  silent  wraiths  across  the 
faces  of  impending  avalanches,  or  roused  from  ex 
hausted  sleep  to  the  thunder  of  them.  They  made  fire- 
less  camps  above  timber-line,  thawing  their  meat-ra 
tions  with  the  heat  of  their  bodies  ere  they  could  eat. 
And  through  it  all  Labiskwee  remained  Labiskwee. 
Her  cheer  never  vanished,  save  when  she  looked  at  Mc 
Can,  and  the  greatest  stupor  of  fatigue  and  cold  never 
stilled  the  eloquence  of  her  love  for  Smoke. 

Like  a  cat  she  watched  the  apportionment  of  the 
meager  ration,  and  Smoke  could  see  that  she  grudged 


368  SMOKE  BELLEW 

MrCan  every  munch  of  his  jaws.  Once,  she  distrib 
uted  the  ration.  The  first  Smoke  knew  was  a  wild 
harangue  of  protest  from  McCan.  Not  to  him  alone, 
but  to  herself,  had  she  given  a  smaller  portion  than  to 
Smoke.  After  that,  Smoke  divided  the  meat  himself. 
Caught  in  a  small  avalanche  one  morning  after  a  night 
of  snow,  and  swept  a  hundred  yards  down  the  moun 
tain,  they  emerged  half-stifled  and  unhurt,  but  McCan 
emerged  without  his  pack  in  which  was  all  the  flour. 
A  second  and  larger  snow-slide  buried  it  beyond  hope 
of  recovery.  After  that,  though  the  disaster  had  been 
through  no  fault  of  his,  Labiskwee  never  looked  at  Mc 
Can,  and  Smoke  knew  it  was  because  she  dared  not. 

It  was  a  morning,  stark  still,  clear  blue  above,  with 
white  sun-dazzle  on  the  snow.  The  way  led  up  a 
long,  wide  slope  of  crust.  They  moved  like  weary 
ghosts  in  a  dead  world.  No  wind  stirred  in  the  stag 
nant,  frigid  calm.  Far  peaks,  a  hundred  miles  away, 
studding  the  backbone  of  the  Rockies  up  and  down, 
were  as  distinct  as  if  no  more  than  five  miles  away. 

"  Something  is  going  to  happen,"  Labiskwee  whis 
pered.  "  Don't  you  feel  it  ?  —  here,  there,  everywhere  ? 
Everything  is  strange." 

"  I  feel  a  chill  that  is  not  of  cold,"  Smoke  answered. 
"  Nor  is  it  of  hunger." 

"  It  is  in  your  head,  your  heart,"  she  agreed  ex 
citedly.  "  That  is  the  way  I  feel  it." 

"  It  is  not  of  my  senses,"  Smoke  diagnosed.  "  I 
sense  something,  from  without,  that  is  tingling  me  with 
ice;  it  is  a  chill  of  my  nerves." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  they  paused  for  breath. 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  369 

"  I  can  no  longer  see  the  far  peaks,"  Smoke  said. 

"  The  air  is  getting  thick  and  heavy/'  said  Labisk 
wee.  "  It  is  hard  to  breathe." 

"  There  be  three  suns,"  McCan  muttered  hoarsely, 
reeling  as  he  clung  to  his  staff  for  support. 

They  was  a  mock  sun  on  either  side  the  real  sun. 
'  There   are   five,"   said   Labiskwee ;   and   as  the}'' 
looked,  new  suns  formed  and  flashed  before  their  eyes. 

"  By  Heaven,  the  sky  is  filled  with  suns  beyant  all 
countin',"  McCan  cried  in  fear. 

Which  was  true,  for  look  where  they  would,  half  the 
circle  of  the  sky  dazzled  and  blazed  with  new  suns 
forming. 

McCan    yelped    sharply    with    surprise    and   pain. 
"  I'm  stung!  "  he  cried  out,  then  yelped  again. 

Then  Labiskwee  cried  out,  and  Smoke  felt  a  prick 
ling  stab  on  his  cheek  so  cold  that  it  burned  like  acid. 
It  reminded  him  of  swimming  in  the  salt  sea  and  be 
ing  stung  by  the  poisonous  filaments  of  Portuguese 
men-of-war.  The  sensations  were  so  similar  that  he 
automatically  brushed  his  cheek  to  rid  it  of  the  sting 
ing  substance  that  was  not  there. 

And  then  a  shot  rang  out,  strangely  muffled.  Down 
the  slope  were  the  young  men,  standing  on  their  skees, 
and  one  after  another  opened  fire. 

"  Spread  out !  "  Smoke  commanded.  "  And  climb 
for  it !  We  're  almost  to  the  top.  They  're  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  below,  and  that  means  a  couple  of  miles  the 
start  of  them  on  the  down-going  of  the  other  side." 

With  faces  prickling  and  stinging  from  invisible  at 
mospheric  stabs,  the  three  scattered  widely  on  the  snow; 


370  SMOKE  BELLEW 

surface  and  toiled  upward.  The  muffled  reports  of  the 
rifles  were  weird  to  their  ears. 

"  Thank  the  Lord,"  Smoke  panted  to  Labiskwee, 
"  that  four  of  them  are  muskets,  and  only  one  a  Win 
chester.  Besides,  all  these  suns  spoil  their  aim.  They 
are  fooled.  They  have  n't  come  within  a  hundred 
feet  oi^us." 

"  It  shows  my  father's  temper,"  she  said.  "  They 
have  orders  to  kill." 

"  How  strange  you  talk,"  Smoke  said.  "  Your 
voice  sounds  far  away." 

"  Cover  your  mouth,"  Labiskwee  cried  suddenly. 
"  And  don't  talk.  I  know  what  it  is.  Cover  your 
mouth  with  your  sleeve,  thus,  and  do  not  talk." 

McCan  fell  first,  and  struggled  wearily  to  his  feet. 
And  after  that  all  fell  repeatedly  ere  they  reached  the 
summit.  Their  wills  exceeded  their  muscles,  they 
knew  not  why,  save  that  their  bodies  were  oppressed  by 
a  numbness  and  heaviness  of  movement.  From  the 
crest,  looking  back,  they  saw  the  young  men  stumbling 
and  falling  on  the  upward  climb. 

"  They  will  never  get  here,"  Labiskwee  said.  "  It 
is  the  white  death.  I  know  it,  though  I  have  never 
seen  it.  I  have  heard  the  old  men  talk.  Soon  will 
come  a  mist  —  unlike  any  mist  or  fog  or  frost-smoke 
you  ever  saw.  Few  have  seen  it  and  lived." 

McCan  gasped  and  strangled. 

"  Keep  your  mouth  covered,"  Smoke  commanded. 

A  pervasive  flashing  of  light  from  all  about  them 
drew  Smoke's  eyes  upward  to  the  many  suns.  They 
were  shimmering  and  veiling.  The  air  was  filled  with 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  371 

microscopic  fire-glints.  The  near  peaks  were  being 
blotted  out  by  the  weird  mist;  the  young  men,  reso 
lutely  struggling  nearer,  were  being  engulfed  in  it. 
McCan  had  sunk  down,  squatting,  on  his  skees,  his 
mouth  and  eyes  covered  by  his  arms. 

"  Come  on,  make  a  start,"  Smoke  ordered. 

"  I  can't  move,"  McCan  moaned. 

His  doubled  body  set  up  a  swaying  motion.  Smoke 
went  toward  him  slowly,  scarcely  able  to  will  move 
ment  through  the  lethargy  that  weighed  his  flesh.  He 
noted  that  his  brain  was  clear.  It  was  only  the  body 
that  was  afflicted. 

"  Let  him  be,"  Labiskwee  muttered  harshly. 

But  Smoke  persisted,  dragging  the  Irishman  to  his 
feet  and  facing  him  down  the  long  slope  they  must  go. 
Then  he  started  him  with  a  shove,  and  McCan,  braking 
and  steering  with  his  staff,  shot  into  the  sheen  of  dia 
mond-dust  and  disappeared. 

Smoke  looked  at  Labiskwee,  who  smiled,  though  it 
was  all  she  could  do  to  keep  from  sinking  down.  He 
nodded  for  her  to  push  off,  but  she  came  near  to  him, 
and  side  by  side,  a  dozen  feet  apart,  they  flew  down 
through  the  stinging  thickness  of  cold  fire. 

Brake  as  he  would,  Smoke's  heavier  body  carried 
him  past  her,  and  he  dashed  on  alone,  a  long  way,  at 
tremendous  speed  that  did  not  slacken  till  he  came  out 
on  a  level,  crusted  plateau.  Here  he  braked  till  La 
biskwee  overtook  him,  and  they  went  on,  again  side  by 
side,  with  diminishing  speed  which  finally  ceased. 
The  lethargy  had  grown  more  pronounced.  The  wild 
est  effort  of  will  could  move  them  no  more  than  at  a 


372  SMOKE  BELLEW 

snail's  pace.  They  passed  McCan,  again  crouched 
down  on  his  skees,  and  Smoke  roused  him  with  his 
staff  in  passing. 

"  Now  we  must  stop,"  Labiskwee  whispered  pain 
fully,  "  or  we  will  die.  We  must  cover  up  —  so  the 
old  men  said." 

She  did  not  delay  to  untie  knots,  but  began  cutting 
her  pack-lashings.  Smoke  cut  his,  and,  with  a  last 
look  at  the  fiery  death-mist  and  the  mockery  of  suns, 
they  covered  themselves  over  with  the  sleeping-furs 
and  crouched  in  each  other's  arms.  They  felt  a  body 
stumble  over  them  and  fall,  then  heard  feeble  whimper 
ing  and  blaspheming  drowned  in  a  violent  coughing  fit, 
and  knew  it  was}  McCan  who  huddled  against  them  as 
he  wrapped  his  robe  about  him. 

Their  own  lung-strangling  began,  and  they  were 
racked  and  torn  by  a  dry  cough,  spasmodic  and  uncon 
trollable.  Smoke  noted  his  temperature  rising  in  a 
fever,  and  Labiskwee  suffered  similarly.  Hour  after 
hour  the  coughing  spells  increased  in  frequency  and 
violence,  and  not  till  late  afternoon  was  the  worst 
reached.  After  that  the  mend  came  slowly,  and  be 
tween  spells  they  dozed  in  exhaustion. 

McCan,  however,  steadily  coughed  worse,  and  from 
his  groans  and  howls  they  knew  he  was  in  delirium. 
Once,  Smoke  made  as  if  to  throw  the  robes  back,  but 
Labiskwee  clung  to  him  tightly. 

"  No,"  she  begged.  "  It  is  death  to  uncover  now. 
Bury  your  face  here,  against  my  parka,  and  breathe 
gently  and  do  no  talking  —  see,  the  way  I  am  doing/' 

They  dozed  on  through  the  darkness,  though  the  de- 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  373 

creasing  fits  of  coughing  of  one  invariably  aroused 
the  other.  It  was  after  midnight,  Smoke  judged, 
when  McCan  coughed  his  last.  After  that  he  emitted 
low  and  bestial  meanings  that  never  ceased. 

Smoke  awoke  with  lips  touching  his  lips.  He  lay 
partly  in  Labiskwee's  arms,  his  head  pillowed  on  her 
breast.  Her  voice  was  cheerful  and  usual.  The 
muffled  sound  of  it  had  vanished. 

"  It  is  day,"  she  said,  lifting  the  edge  of  the  robes  a 
trifle.  "  See,  O  my  lover.  It  is  day;  we  have  lived 
through ;  and  we  no  longer  cough.  Let  us  look  at  the 
world,  though  I  could  stay  here  thus  forever  and  al 
ways.  This  last  hour  has  been  sweet.  I  have  been 
awake,  and  I  have  been  loving  you." 

"  I  do  not  hear  McCan,"  Smoke  said.  "  And  what 
has  become  of  the  young  men  that  they  have  not  found 
us?" 

He  threw  back  the  robes  and  saw  a  normal  and  soli 
tary  sun  in  the  sky.  A  gentle  breeze  was  blowing, 
crisp  with  frost  and  hinting  of  warmer  days  to  come. 
All  the  world  was  natural  again.  McCan  lay  on  his 
back,  his  unwashed  face,  swarthy  from  camp-smoke, 
frozen  hard  as  marble.  The  sight  did  not  affect 
Labiskwee. 

"  Look!  "  she  cried.  "  A  snow  bird!  It  is  a  good 
sign." 

There  was  no  evidence  of  the  young  men.  Either 
they  had  died  on  the  other  side  of  the  divide  or  they 
had  turned  back. 

There  was  so  little  food  that  they  dared  not  eat  a 
tithe  of  what  they  needed,  nor  a  hundredth  part  of 


374  SMOKE  BELLEW 

what  they  desired,  and  in  the  days  that  followed,  wan 
dering  through  the  lone  mountain-land,  the  sharp  sting 
of  life  grew  blunted  and  the  wandering  merged  half 
into  a  dream.  Smoke  would  become  abruptly  con 
scious,  to  find  himself  staring  at  the  never-ending 
hated  snow-peaks,  his  senseless  babble  still  ringing  in 
his  ears.  And  the  next  he  would  know,  after  seeming 
centuries,  was  that  again  he  was  roused  to  the  sound  of 
his  own  maunderings.  Labiskwee,  too,  was  light 
headed  most  of  the  time.  In  the  main  their  efforts 
were  unreasoned,  automatic.  And  ever  they  worked 
toward  the  west,  and  ever  they  were  baffled  and  thrust 
north  or  south  by  snow-peaks  and  impassable  ranges. 

"  There  is  no  way  south,"  Labiskwee  said.  "  The 
old  men  know.  West,  only  west,  is  the  way." 

The  young  men  no  longer  pursued,  but  famine 
crowded  on  the  trail. 

Came  a  day  when  it  turned  cold,  and  a  thick  snow, 
that  was  not  snow  but  frost  crystals  of  the  size  of 
grains  of  sand,  began  to  fall.  All  day  and  night  it  fell, 
and  for  three  days  and  nights  it  continued  to  fall.  It 
was  impossible  to  travel  until  it  crusted  under  the 
spring  sun,  so  they  lay  in  their  furs  and  rested,  and  ate 
less  because  they  rested.  So  small  was  the  ration  they 
permitted  that  it  gave  no  appeasement  to  the  hunger 
pang  that  was  much  of  the  stomach,  but  more  of  the 
brain.  And  Labiskwee,  delirious,  maddened  by  the 
taste  of  her  tiny  portion,  sobbing  and  mumbling,  yelp 
ing  sharp  little  animal  cries  of  joy,  fell  upon  the  next 
day's  portion  and  crammed  it  into  her  mouth. 

Then  it  was  given  to  Smoke  to  see  a  wonderful 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  375 

thing.  The  food  between  her  teeth  roused  her  to 
consciousness.  She  spat  it  out,  and  with  a  great  anger 
struck  herself  with  her  clenched  fist  on  the  offending 
mouth. 

It  was  given  to  Smoke  to  see  many  wonderful  things 
in  the  days  yet  to  come.  After  the  long  snow-fall 
came  on  a  great  wind  that  drove  the  dry  and  tiny  frost- 
particles  as  sand  is  driven  in  a  sand-storm.  All 
through  the  night  the  sand-frost  drove  by,  and  in  the 
full  light  of  a  clear  and  wind-blown  day,  Smoke  looked 
with  swimming  eyes  and  reeling  brain  upon  what  he 
took  to  be  the  vision  of  a  dream.  All  about  towered 
great  peaks  and  small,  lone  sentinels  and  groups  and 
councils  of  mighty  Titans.  And  from  the  tip  of  every 
peak,  swaying,  undulating,  flaring  out  broadly  against 
the  azure  sky,  streamed  gigantic  snow-banners,  miles 
in  length,  milky  and  nebulous,  ever  waving  lights  and 
shadows  and  flashing  silver  from  the  sun. 

"  Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the 
Lord,"  Smoke  chanted,  as  he  gazed  upon  these  dusts  of 
snow  wind-driven  into  sky-scarfs  of  shimmering  silken 
light. 

And  still  he  gazed,  and  still  the  bannered  peaks  did 
not  vanish,  and  still  he  considered  that  he  dreamed, 
until  Labiskwee  sat  up  among  the  furs. 

"  I  dream,  Labiskwee/'  he  said.  "  Look.  Do  you, 
too,  dream  within  my  dream  ?  " 

"  It  is  no  dream,"  she  replied.  "  This  have  the  old 
men  told  me.  And  after  this  will  blow  the  warm 
winds,  and  we  shall  live  and  win  west." 

Smoke  shot  a  snow-bird,  and  they  divided  it.     Once, 


376  SMOKE  BELLEW 

in  a  valley  where  willows  budded  standing  in  the  snow, 
he  shot  a  snowshoe  rabbit.  Another  time  he  got  a 
lean,  white  weasel.  This  much  of  meat  they  encoun 
tered,  and  no  more,  though,  once,  half-mile  high  and 
veering  toward  the  west  and  the  Yukon,  they  saw  a 
wild-duck  wedge  drive  by. 

"  It  is  summer  in  the  lower  valleys,"  said  Labiskwee. 
"  Soon  it  will  be  summer  here." 

Labiskwee's  face  had  grown  thin,  but  the  bright, 
large  eyes  were  brighter  and  larger,  and  when  she 
looked  at  him  she  was  transfigured  by  a  wild,  unearthly 
beauty. 

The  days  lengthened,  and  the  snow  began  to  sink. 
Each  day  the  crust  thawed,  each  night  it  froze  again ; 
and  they  were  afoot  early  and  late,  being  compelled 
to  camp  and  rest  during  the  midday  hours  of  thaw 
when  the  crust  could  not  bear  their  weight.  When 
Smoke  grew  snow-blind,  Labiskwee  towed  him  on  a 
thong  tied  to  her  waist.  And  when  she  was  so  blinded, 
she  towed  behind  a  thong  to  his  waist.  And  starving, 
in  a  deeper  dream,  they  struggled  on  through  an  awak 
ening  land  bare  of  any  life  save  their  own. 

Exhausted  as  he  was,  Smoke  grew  almost  to  fear 
sleep,  so  fearful  and  bitter  were  the  visions  of  that  mad, 
twilight  land.  Always  were  they  of  food,  and  always 
was  the  food,  at  his  lips,  snatched  away  by  the  malign 
deviser  of  dreams.  He  gave  dinners  to  his  comrades 
of  the  old  San  Francisco  days,  himself,  with  whetting 
appetite  and  jealous  eye,  directing  the  arrangements, 
decorating  the  table  with  crimson-leafed  runners  of 
the  autumn  grape.  The  guests  were  dilatory,  and 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  377 

while  he  greeted  them  and  all  sparkled  with  their  latest 
cleverness,  he  was  frantic  with  desire  for  the  table. 
He  stole  to  it,  unobserved,  and  clutched  a  handful  of 
black  ripe  olives,  and  turned  to  meet  still  another  guest. 
And  others  surrounded  him,  and  the  laugh  and  play  of 
wit  went  on,  while  all  the  time,  hidden  in  his  closed 
hand,  was  this  madness  of  ripe  olives. 

He  gave  many  such  dinners,  all  with  the  same  empty 
ending.  He  attended  Gargantuan  feasts,  where  multi 
tudes  fed  on  innumerable  bullocks  roasted  whole,  pry 
ing  them  out  of  smoldering  pits  and  with  sharp  knives 
slicing  great  strips  of  meat  from  the  steaming  car 
casses.  He  stood,  with  mouth  agape,  beneath  long 
rows  of  turkeys  which  white-aproned  shopmen  sold. 
And  everybody  bought  save  Smoke,  mouth  still  agape, 
chained  by  a  leadenness  of  movement  to  the  pavement. 
A  boy  again,  he  sat  with  spoon  poised  high  above  great 
bowls  of  bread  and  milk.  He  pursued  shy  heifers 
through  upland  pastures  and  centuries  of  torment  in 
vain  effort  to  steal  from  them  their  milk,  and  in 
noisome  dungeons  he  fought  with  rats  for  scraps  and 
refuse.  There  was  no  food  that  was  not  a  madness 
to  him,  and  he  wandered  through  vast  stables,  where 
fat  horses  stood  in  mile-long  rows  of  stalls,  and  sought 
but  never  found  the  bran-bins  from  which  they  fed. 

Once,  only,  he  dreamed  to  advantage.  Famishing, 
shipwrecked  or  marooned,  he  fought  with  the  big  Pa 
cific  surf  for  rock-clinging  mussels,  and  carried  them 
up  the  sands  to  the  dry  flotsam  of  the  spring  tides.  Of 
thjs  he  built  a  fire,  and  among  the  coals  he  laid  his 
precious  trove.  He  watched  the  steam  jet  forth  and  the 


378  SMOKE  BELLEW 

locked  shells  pop  apart,  exposing  the  salmon-colored 
meat.  Cooked  to  a  turn  —  he  knew  it ;  and  this  time 
there  was  no  intruding  presence  to  whisk  the  meal 
away.  At  last  —  so  he  dreamed  within  the  dream  — 
the  dream  would  come  true.  This  time  he  would  eat. 
Yet  in  his  certitude  he  doubted,  and  he  was  steeled  for 
the  inevitable  shift  of  vision  until  the  salmon-colored 
meat,  hot  and  savory,  was  in  his  mouth.  His  teeth 
closed  upon  it.  He  ate!  The  miracle  had  happened! 
The  shock  aroused  him.  He  awoke  in  the  dark,  lying 
on  his  back,  and  heard  himself  mumbling  little  piggish 
squeals  and  grunts  of  joy.  His  jaws  were  moving, 
and  between  his  teeth  meat  was  crunching.  He  did 
not  move,  and  soon  small  fingers  felt  about  his  lips,  and 
between  them  was  inserted  a  tiny  sliver  of  meat.  And 
in  that  he  would  eat  no  more,  rather  than  that  he  was 
angry,  Labi sk wee  cried  and  in  his  arms  sobbed  herself 
to  sleep.  But  he  lay  on  awake,  marveling  at  the  love 
and  the  wonder  of  woman. 

The  time  came  when  the  last  food  was  gone.  The 
high  peaks  receded,  the  divides  became  lower,  and  the 
way  opened  promisingly  to  the  west.  But  their  re 
serves  of  strength  were  gone,  and,  without  food,  the 
time  quickly  followed  when  they  lay  down  at  night 
and  in  the  morning  did  not  arise.  Smoke  weakly 
gained  his  feet,  collapsed,  and  on  hands  and  knees 
crawled  about  the  building  of  a  fire.  But  try  as  she 
would  Labiskwee  sank  back  each  time  in  an  extremity 
of  weakness.  And  Smoke  sank  down  beside  her,  a 
wan  sneer  on  his  face  for  the  automatism  that  had 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  379 

made  him  struggle  for  an  unneeded  fire.  There  was 
nothing  to  cook,  and  the  day  was  warm.  A  gentle 
breeze  sighed  in  the  spruce-trees,  and  from  everywhere, 
under  the  disappearing  snow,  came  the  trickling  music 
of  unseen  streamlets. 

Labiskwee  lay  in  a  stupor,  her  breathing  so  imper 
ceptible  that  often  Smoke  thought  her  dead.  In  the 
afternoon  the  chattering  of  a  squirrel  aroused  him. 
Dragging  the  heavy  rifle,  he  wallowed  through  the 
crust  that  had  become  slush.  He  crept  on  hands  and 
knees,  or  stood  upright  and  fell  forward  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  squirrel  that  chattered  its  wrath  and  fled 
slowly  and  tantalizingly  before  him.  He  had  not  the 
strength  for  a  quick  shot,  and  the  squirrel  was  never 
still.  At  times  Smoke  sprawled  in  the  wet  snow-melt 
and  cried  out  of  weakness.  Other  times  the  flame  of 
his  life  flickered,  and  blackness  smote  him.  How  long 
he  lay  in  the  last  faint  he  did  not  know,  but  he  came  to, 
shivering  in  the  chill  of  evening,  his  wet  clothing  frozen 
to  the  re-forming  crust.  The  squirrel  was  gone,  and 
after  a  weary  struggle  he  won  back  to  the  side  of 
Labiskwee.  So  profound  was  his  weakness  that  he 
lay  like  a  dead  man  through  the  night,  nor  did  dreams 
disturb  him. 

The  sun  was  in  the  sky,  the  same  squirrel  chattering 
through  the  trees,  when  Labiskwee's  hand  on  Smoke's 
cheek  awakened  him. 

"  Put  your  hand  on  my  heart,  lover,"  she  said,  her 
voice  dear  but  faint  and  very  far  away.  "  My  heart 
is  my  love,  and  you  hold  it  in  your  hand." 

A  long  time  seemed  to  go  by,  ere  she  spoke  again. 


380  SMOKE  BELLEW 

"  Remember  always,  there  is  no  way  south.  That 
is  well  known  to  the  Caribou  People.  West  —  that  is 
the  way  —  and  you  are  almost  there  —  and  you  will 
make  it." 

And  Smoke  drowsed  in  the  numbness  that  is  near  to 
death,  until  once  more  she  aroused  him. 

"  Put  your  lips  on  mine,"  she  said.  "  I  will  die 
so." 

"  We  will  die  together,  sweetheart,"  was  his  answer. 

"  No."  A  feeble  flutter  of  her  hand  checked  him, 
and  so  thin  was  her  voice  that  scarcely  did  he  hear  it, 
yet  did  he  hear  all  of  it.  Her  hand  fumbled  and 
groped  in  the  hood  of  her  parka,  and  she  drew  forth  a 
pouch  that  she  placed  in  his  hand.  "  And  now  your 
lips,  my  lover.  Your  lips  on  my  lips,  and  your  hand 
on  my  heart." 

And  in  that  long  kiss  darkness  came  upon  him  again, 
and  when  again  he  was  conscious  he  knew  that  he  was 
alone  and  he  knew  that  he  was  to  die.  He  was  wearily 
glad  that  he  was  to  die. 

He  found  his  hand  resting  on  the  pouch.  With  an 
inward  smile  at  the  curiosity  that  made  him  pull  the 
draw-string,  he  opened  it.  Out  poured  a  tiny  flood  of 
food.  There  was  no  particle  of  it  that  he  did  not 
recognize,  all  stolen  by  Labiskwee  from  Labiskwee  — 
bread- fragments  saved  far  back  in  the  days  ere  McCan 
lost  the  flour ;  strips  and  strings  of  caribou-meat,  partly 
gnawed ;  crumbles  of  suet ;  the  hind-leg  of  the  snow- 
shoe  rabbit,  untouched;  the  hind-leg  and  part  of  the 
fore-leg  of  the  white  weasel ;  the  wing  dented  still  by 
her  reluctant  teeth,  and  the  leg  of  the  snow-bird  — 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  381 

pitiful  remnants,  tragic  renunciations,  crucifixions  of 
life,  morsels  stolen  from  her  terrible  hunger  by  her  in 
credible  love. 

With  maniacal  laughter  Smoke  flung  it  all  out  on  the 
hardening  snow-crust  and  went  back  into  the  blackness. 

He  dreamed.  The  Yukon  ran  dry.  In  its  bed, 
among  muddy  pools  of  water  and  ice-scoured  rocks, 
he  wandered,  picking  up  fat  nugget-gold.  The  weight 
of  it  grew  to  be  a  burden  to  him,  till  he  discovered  that 
it  was  good  to  eat.  And  greedily  he  ate.  After  all, 
of  what  worth  was  gold  that  men  should  prize  it  so, 
save  that  it  was  good  to  eat  ? 

He  awoke  to  another  sun.  His  brain  was  strangely 
clear.  No  longer  did  his  eyesight  blur.  The  familiar 
palpitation  that  had  vexed  him  through  all  his  frame 
was  gone.  The  juices  of  his  body  seemed  to  sing,  as 
if  the  spring  had  entered  in.  Blessed  well-being  had 
come  to  him.  He  turned  to  awaken  Labiskwee,  and 
saw,  and  remembered.  He  looked  for  the  food  flung 
out  on  the  snow.  It  \vas  gone.  And  he  knew  that  in 
delirium  and  dream  it  had  been  the  Yukon  nugget- 
gold.  In  delirium  and  dream  he  had  taken  heart  of 
life  from  the  life  sacrifice  of  Labiskwee,  who  had  put 
her  heart  in  his  hand  and  opened  his  eyes  to  woman 
and  wonder. 

He  was  surprised  at  the  ease  of  his  movements, 
astounded  that  he  was  able  to  drag  her  fur-wrapped 
body  to  the  exposed  thawed  gravel-bank,  which  he 
undermined  with  the  ax  and  caved  upon  her. 

Three  days,  with  no  further  food,  he  fought  west 


382  SMOKE  BELLEW 

In  the  mid  third  day  he  fell  beneath  a  lone  spruce  be 
side  a  wide  stream  that  ran  open  and  which  he  knew 
must  be  the  Klondike.  Ere  blackness  conquered  him, 
he  unlashed  his  pack,  said  good-by  to  the  bright  world, 
and  rolled  himself  in  the  robes. 

Chirping,  sleepy  noises  awoke  him.  The  long  twi 
light  was  on.  Above  him,  among  the  spruce  boughs, 
were  ptarmigan.  Hunger  bit  him  into  instant  action, 
though  the  action  was  infinitely  slow.  Five  minutes 
passed  before  he  was  able  to  get  his  rifle  to  his 
shoulder,  and  a  second  five  minutes  passed  ere  he 
dared,  lying  on  his  back  and  aiming  straight  upward,  to 
pull  the  trigger.  It  was  a  clean  miss.  No  bird  fell, 
but  no  bird  flew.  They  ruffled  and  rustled  stupidly 
and  drowsily.  His  shoulder  pained  him.  A  second 
shot  was  spoiled  by  the  involuntary  wince  he  made  as 
he  pulled  trigger.  Somewhere,  in  the  last  three  days, 
though  he  had  no  recollection  how,  he  must  have  fallen 
and  injured  it. 

The  ptarmigan  had  not  flown.  He  doubled  and  re 
doubled  the  robe  that  had  covered  him,  and  humped  it 
in  the  hollow  between  his  right  arm  and  his  side. 
Resting  the  butt  of  the  rifle  on  the  fur,  he  fired  again, 
and  a  bird  fell.  He  clutched  it  greedily  and  found  that 
he  had  shot  most  of  the  meat  out  of  it.  The  large- 
caliber  bullet  had  left  little  else  than  a  mess  of  mangled 
feathers.  Still  the  ptarmigan  did  not  fly,  and  he  de 
cided  that  it  was  heads  or  nothing.  He  fired  only  at 
heads.  He  reloaded  and  reloaded  the  magazine.  He 
missed;  he  hit;  and  the  stupid  ptarmigan,  that  were 
loth  to  fly,  fell  upon  him  in  a  rain  of  food  —  lives  dis- 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  383 

rupted  that  his  life  might  feed  and  live.  There  had 
been  nine  of  them,  and  in  the  end  he  clipped  the  head 
of  the  ninth,  and  lay  and  laughed  and  wept  he  knew  not 
why. 

The  first  he  ate  raw.  Then  he  rested  and  slept, 
while  his  life  assimilated  the  life  of  it.  In  the  darkness 
he  awoke,  hungry,  with  strength  to  build  a  fire.  And 
until  early  dawn  he  cooked  and  ate,  crunching  the 
bones  to  powder  between  his  long-idle  teeth.  He  slept, 
awoke  in  the  darkness  of  another  night,  and  slept  again 
to  another  sun. 

He  noted  with  surprise  that  the  fire  crackled  with 
fresh  fuel  and  that  a  blackened  coffee-pot  steamed  on 
the  edge  of  the  coals.  Beside  the  fire,  within  arm's 
length,  sat  Shorty,  smoking  a  brown-paper  cigarette 
and  intently  watching  him.  Smoke's  lips  moved,  but 
a  throat  paralysis  seemed  to  come  upon  him,  while  his 
chest  was  suffused  with  the  menace  of  tears.  He 
reached  out  his  hand  for  the  cigarette  and  drew  the 
smoke  deep  into  his  lungs  again  and  again. 

"  I  have  not  smoked  for  a  long  time,"  he  said  at  last, 
in  a  low  calm  voice.  "  For  a  very  long  time." 

"  Nor  eaten,  from  your  looks,"  Shorty  added  gruffly. 

Smoke  nodded  and  waved  his  hand  at  the  ptarmigan 
feathers  that  lay  all  about. 

"  Not  until  recently,"  he  returned.  "  Do  you  know, 
I  'd  like  a  cup  of  coffee.  It  will  taste  strange.  Also 
flapjacks  and  a  strip  of  bacon." 

"  And  beans?  "  Shorty  tempted. 

"  They  would  taste  heavenly.  I  find  I  am  quite 
hungry  again." 


384  SMOKE  BELLEW 

While  the  one  cooked  and  the  other  ate,  they  told 
briefly  what  had  happened  to  them  in  the  days  since 
their  separation. 

"  The  Klondike  was  breakin'  up,"  Shorty  concluded 
his  recital,  "  an*  we  just  had  to  wait  for  open  water. 
Two  polin'  boats,  six  other  men  —  you  know  'em  all, 
an'  crackerjacks  —  an'  all  kinds  of  outfit.  An*  we  Ve 
sure  been  a-comin'  —  polin',  linin*  up,  and  portagin'. 
But  the  falls  '11  stick  'em  a  solid  week.  That 's  where  I 
left  'em  a-cuttin'  a  trail  over  the  tops  of  the  bluffs  for 
the  boats.  I  just  had  a  sure  natural  hunch  to  keep  a- 
comin'.  So  I  fills  a  pack  with  grub  an'  starts.  I  knew 
I  'd  find  you  a-driftin'  an'  all  in." 

Smoke  nodded,  and  put  forth  his  hand  in  a  silent 
grip.  "  Well,  let 's  get  started,"  he  said. 

"  Started  hell !  "  Shorty  exploded.  "  We  stay  right 
here  an'  rest  you  up  an'  feed  you  up  for  a  couple  of 
days." 

Smoke  shook  his  head. 

"  If  you  could  just  see  yourself,"  Shorty  pro 
tested. 

And  what  he  saw  was  not  nice.  Smoke's  face, 
wherever  the  skin  showed,  was  black  and  purple  and 
scabbed  from  repeated  frost-bite.  The  cheeks  were 
fallen  in,  so  that,  despite  the  covering  of  beard,  the 
upper  rows  of  teeth  ridged  the  shrunken  flesh.  Across 
the  forehead  and  about  the  deep-sunk  eyes,  the  skin 
was  stretched  drum-tight,  while  the  scraggly  beard,  that 
should  have  been  golden,  was  singed  by  fire  and  filthy 
with  camp-smoke. 

"  Better  pack  up,"  Smoke  said.     "  I  'm  going  on." 


WONDER  OF  WOMAN  385 

"  But  you  're  feeble  as  a  kid  baby.  You  can't  hike. 
What's  the  rush?" 

"  Shorty,  I  am  going  after  the  biggest  thing  in  the 
Klondike,  and  I  can't  wait.  That 's  all.  Start  pack 
ing.  It 's  the  biggest  thing  in  the  world.  It 's  bigger 
than  lakes  of  gold  and  mountains  of  gold,  bigger  than 
adventure,  and  meat-eating,  and  bear-killing." 

Shorty  sat  with  bulging  eyes.  "  In  the  name  of  the 
Lord,  what  is  it?  "  he  queried  huskily.  "  Or  are  you 
just  simple  loco?  " 

"  No,  I  'm  all  right.  Perhaps  a  fellow  has  to  stop 
eating  in  order  to  see  things.  At  any  rate,  I  have  seen 
things  I  never  dreamed  were  in  the  world.  I  know 
what  a  woman  is, —  now." 

Shorty's  mouth  opened,  and  about  the  lips  and  in  the 
light  of  the  eyes  was  the  whimsical  advertisement  of 
the  sneer  forthcoming. 

"  Don't,  please,"  Smoke  said  gently.  "  You  don't 
know.  I  do." 

Shorty  gulped  and  changed  his  thought.  "  Huh !  I 
don't  need  no  hunch  to  guess  her  name.  The  rest  of 
Jem  has  gone  up  to  the  drainin'  of  Surprise  Lake,  but 
Joy  Gastell  allowed  she  would  n't  go.  She  's  stickin' 
around  Dawson,  waitin'  to  see  if  I  come  back  with  you. 
An'  she  sure  swears,  if  I  don't,  she  '11  sell  her  holdin's 
an'  hire  a  army  of  gun-fighters,  an'  go  into  the  Caribou 
Country  an'  knock  the  everlastin'  stuffin'  outa  old 
Snass  an*  his  whole  gang.  An'  if  you  '11  hold  your 
horses  a  couple  of  shakes,  I  reckon  I  '11  get  packed  up 
an'  ready  to  hike  along  with  you." 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  lest  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 

Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

bue  end  of  FAU  '  NOV2l'73    7 

sublect  1u  i£co  _ — _— _______________ 


JUL  0  /  b74  i  ^ 

f          X 


/ 


DEC  1  R     7    7  Q 


JUN     9  1975  1 





SEC.  CW. 


n  -M 


^OT»    in'7^  General  Library 

"0771"10'  71  _  T  Iniwnir*  «f  r-l-'f 


